Summer Job
by Sakon76
Summary: Some people get the best summer jobs.  Simulacra'verse; follows "Antarctica."
1. Prime Quality

**Summer Job: Prime Quality**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 8th March 2010

May 21st, 2010

The classroom door didn't bang closed behind the three of them only because there were still students inside finishing their own exams.

"God," Leo moaned, one hand massaging the back of his neck, "after that I could really go for some pizza."

"Sure, I'm game," Sam said, shrugging and pulling out his cellphone to send a quick text to his guardian. "Mirage?"

"Hound will be done soon," the Pretender replied. "He will meet us there."

"Excellent," Leo declared, and forged the way toward the nearest pizza parlor.

When they got to the parking lot, though, the trio stopped.

The golden Camaro they were expecting was indeed waiting there for them, but was dwarfed by the bulk of the Peterbilt truck parked three spaces away.

Sam breathed out a long, slow sigh.

"Sam?" Leo asked.

"You guys go ahead," Sam said, shifting the weight of his backpack, never looking away from the flame-painted big rig. "I'll catch up."

"You're sure?" Mirage inquired.

"Yeah. Optimus and I have some stuff to talk about." His fingers trailed across the Camaro's hood, which earned him a slight vibration from that vehicle and a chirped text message offering moral support.

Not looking back, Sam clambered up the passenger side of the truck and swung himself inside the cab, shutting the door behind himself.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he asked after a moment's silence, "that you're something of a literalist?"

"My timing is actually not intentional," the Cybertronian Prime replied. "How did your exams go?"

Sam shrugged, setting his backpack at his feet and leaning back against Optimus' upholstery. "Not bad. Though it's really fun when the stuff in my head tells me that the stuff in the textbook is all wrong."

"Human science is not that poor, surely."

"Not mostly," Sam admitted. "Just lacking info sometimes. You know we used to think the world was flat just because we'd never gone around it? Like that. We can only work with what we have," he said pointedly.

Optimus was silent for a moment, then gave something that sounded like a sigh. "You're right; I should not have kept it from you. I apologize."

"Apology accepted," Sam replied. "So, if you're not here just because my finals are over, what brings you to Princeton?"

"...Jetstorm is requiring me to refine my use of space bridges," Optimus admitted, sounding reluctant. "As with many things, practice is apparently required for improvement."

Sam stared at his dashboard. "You're telling me you're in remedial lessons?" he asked incredulously.

"I would not have put it that way." Optimus sounded mildly affronted.

"You totally are," Sam said, grinning.

"And how have you been managing your telekinesis?" Optimus asked, changing the subject.

Sam fell back against the seat, smile vanishing. "Okay, point."

"Are you free for a while, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. Where we going?"

"For a drive." And there was a shimmer and then suddenly someone was sitting in Prime's driver's seat. The dark-haired man was of middling age and athletic build, wearing blue jeans, a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a blue t-shirt peeking out from beneath its open collar, and a white Stetson.

Sam once-overed the hologram and rolled his eyes as the mock-Peterbilt's engine roared to life, sounding for all the world like the real thing. "Just so you know, that's stereotypical, Prime-the flannel shirt thing."

"I like it," Optimus replied mildly, sounding stung. Bumblebee's horn beeped cheerily at them as the yellow 'bot left the parking lot, bearing Leo and Mirage toward the pizza parlor.

"Yeah, well, you also did yourself up painted with flames," Sam bitched as the hologram-quite convincingly-backed the big rig out of the parking space and set out for parts unknown. "How does no one in the government twig onto the fact that you're not actually this conservative leader they think you are? I mean, come on, _flames_!"

"I can be conservative," Optimus protested.

Yeah, Sam wanted to reply, but you're also a bad-ass battle 'bot. The words died unspoken in his throat at the memories of Mission City and that forest in the New Jersey countryside, Optimus first trying to sacrifice himself to save Sam, then succeeding as he took on three mechs at once, destroying the helicopter, tearing Starscream limb from limb, only to be run through from behind, impaled by Megatron's blade...

Sam had been absolved by the other Primes, but he could never forget what he had allowed to happen because of his own willful stupidity. And he could never let it happen again.

"Sam?" Optimus asked, hologram looking concernedly at him.

"Sorry," he apologized, sitting up straighter and finally buckling his seat belt. "I have been practicing the TK thing some. I just haven't had much time or room to work with it yet. I kinda didn't want Leo finding out. He'd spaz."

If Optimus was surprised by Sam's change in direction, he didn't show it, the hologram returning its fictional attention to the road. "It's good that you've been practicing. It may be a skill you'll need."

"Mmm." Sam shifted in his seat a little. "I guess I can understand why I've got it-snag the Matrix, prove I'm worthy of it, get dubbed a Prime by the old Primes, etcetera-but what I don't get is why you _don't_ have it. And you didn't have the teleportation thing either until Jetfire gave you his module. I mean, the Fallen used to be a Prime, once upon a time, right? And he had both those skills. So why didn't you?"

There was a moment's silence before Optimus responded, "That's actually part of what I wanted to speak with you about, Sam."

"How so?" Outside the windows the city's gray steel and concrete had turned into green and brown.

"Until you and I met the other Primes, we never had proof that I was one," Optimus said softly.

"What?" Sam demanded.

The truck shuddered slightly as the Prime braked and pulled over onto the dirt and gravel shoulder of the road. A car which had been behind them, nearly tailgating, whizzed past and around a bend into the distance. "The Primes were destroyed almost before I was brought online, Sam," Optimus explained quietly. "The creche where the newest and youngest of the Primes were being created was destroyed by the Fallen even before he battled those of his brothers who had remained on Cybertron. With them, it was thought, the line of the Primes ended." With a soft click, a cable unfolded from under the dash, reaching toward Sam.

"Um," Sam hesitated, eyes on the silvery plug.

"Data transfer is not always about the expression of one's feelings for one another," Optimus said, sounding amused. "I promise you, this is not 'cheating' on Bumblebee or Mikaela. And it is significantly simpler than holographic immersion."

"Oh God." Sam, mortified, wanted something to thump his head against. "You remember that we're not bringing up me and 'Bee and Mikaela in mixed company, right? Like, ever?" Mixed meaning anyone else.

"Of course." And if Optimus' hologram showed a too-human glint of amusement, that was just because he was a very good mimic. Sam huffed a sigh and grabbed the offered cable.

* * *

><p>He remembered this place, except for him the wind-carved figures and canyon had been made of stone, not metal. And the Primes standing before him, dwarfing him even still, even in Optimus' memories not his own, were a different set of half-a-dozen than the ones Sam had briefly met in his own after-death experience, though how he could tell that he didn't know.<p>

"Optimus Prime," one of them said, stepping forward, almost but not quite brushing a hand against Optimus' face.

"Our last descendant," another said, voice similarly affectionate. They clustered around him, never quite touching, but so clearly wanting to.

He found his voice. "Who are you?" he asked. "Where am I?"

"This is the gateway to the Well of Allsparks," one answered his second question, voice quite clearly that of a femme though her frame bore as little resemblance to that model as any of the others' did to his own protoform.

"And we are some of the original Primes," the first spoke again. "You are our brother. And we are yours."

Something shifted inside him then, something old and almost forgotten. The despair of not being what his creator had ordered, of somehow being defective and wanting, of being let go to find his own place. Of wandering orphaned until he'd found a place among the meanest of the mean in the docks. Of slowly finding his way there, building rapport and friendships, rising through the ranks over the vorns until he'd ended up head of the civilian side of their world.

"It has never been easy for you," another spoke, digits almost brushing against where the glyph for "Prime" had always been carved below his audial fin. "Never believe you were unwanted."

Memory flashed, suddenly, of an elderly caretaker hurriedly switching the spark chambers of two tiny protoforms, placing the Prime's form bearing the spark of a worker back into its proper creche, and stealing away with the Prime spark in the body of a worker mere minutes before the creche was destroyed. Injured by the blast, dying, the caretaker had returned the tiny, hidden Prime to the workers' creche, engraving the marking of Prime onto his helm with the last of his strength before he died, hoping that someday someone would understand the hint left there and guide the child to his destiny.

"What were their names?" Optimus asked suddenly.

"The child who died for you, and whose frame houses you, Ultra Magnus," the femme Prime told him. "Your caretaker and savior was A-3, also known as Alpha Trion."

One looked away into the distance. "Ah, he comes, your human brother."

"Human brother...?" Optimus asked, confused.

"Primes can be made only by the Allspark," he was told. "And it will only work with appropriate material. Your young human friend has been found... sufficient."

And there was something pulling on him, and all he heard was a whisper of "Walk with Primus, brother," before he onlined, hurting everywhere, to find Sam on his chest, hands on _something_ that had rekindled Optimus' extinguished spark.

* * *

><p>Sam opened his eyes with a gasp.<p>

It took a moment, but he finally asked "You never _knew_?"

"Ratchet was the one who suggested the possibility," Optimus answered, "after an archaeological expedition discovered the tombs of the Primes on Cybertron, each marked with the same glyph I bore."

"I still can't believe your planet lost an entire language within one generation," Sam griped, releasing the cable, which slithered home, disappearing again with a soft click. "I know, I know, algorithms that were completely alien to all other Cybertronian CPUs, etcetera."

"So," Optimus said, "would you prefer 'Samuel Prime' or 'Witwicky Prime'?"

Sam stared at the dashboard, then at the gently smiling hologram, unwilling to believe that _Optimus Prime_, of all people, was teasing him about this.

"I have heard that brothers are supposed to annoy one another," the Prime offered in mollification.

"Are you taking that from the twins?" Sam demanded. "Because I really don't think they're the best example."

"It seems to be the pattern for brothers of your species as well," Optimus observed.

"Yeah, well." Sam slumped back against his seat again. "I've never had a brother, you know, so I wouldn't know. We've both got the only child syndrome going."

Optimus' voice was soft when he spoke again. "I would be honored to have you as a brother, Sam," he said.

Sam sighed. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, all right? I do. I really do. It's just, no matter what the other Primes say, I really don't think I'm Prime material, okay? I'm like this horrible person, I'm a jerk to my friends, I got you killed..."

"I have observed that you can be callous toward those you have affection for, and that you sometimes take them for granted," Optimus agreed. "No one is without flaw, Sam."

"Oh, come on, you're practically perfect," Sam argued.

"I have had a lot longer than you to become aware of and try to correct my flaws," the truck replied. "Ask Ratchet or Ironhide if you would like a list of my failings." His tone turned petulant. "Neither of them ever forgets a single one."

That surprised a laugh out of Sam.

"As to getting me killed... I would like to point out that engaging in that battle was my choice, Sam, and also that for the once you've gotten me killed, you've saved my life twice. That would seem to put the balance in your favor."

"Most people only get a once," Sam muttered.

"You and I," Optimus replied, "are not 'most people'."

Sam sighed slowly. "Brothers, huh?" he asked quietly.

"Indeed."

"Fine," Sam agreed. "But," he cautioned sharply, "I'm not going by Samuel Prime, and definitely not by Witwicky Prime! I'm just Sam."

"Of course," Optimus agreed in a pleasant tone that implied he might disagree. "Now, as to the other reason I came to your university... have you considered your situation for the summer yet?"

"I was going to go back home to my parents' and get some kind of job," Sam replied. "Maybe as a waiter or in retail or something. Why?"

"There might be an opening on Diego Garcia for an intern at NEST this summer," Optimus offered. "Perhaps two, if Mikaela would be interested in apprenticing herself to Ratchet..."

"I'd love to, but my mother'd throw a fit," Sam responded automatically. "She wants to see me all day every day during the summer. Only child syndrome, remember?"

"There is, of course, the possibility of commuting via space bridge."

"So you're going to pick me up every day and drop me-and maybe Mikaela-off at the end of it?" Sam asked. "What's the time difference between Diego Garcia and Pasadena again? Come on, Optimus."

"I'm quite serious," Optimus replied. "It would be convenient for us to have you on hand for situations that may arise with Earth's governments, you need a secured space where you can continue to refine your abilities, and I, as Jetstorm has pointed out, need to practice mine."

"Win-win situation, huh?" Sam asked quietly, and thought about it for a minute. "Fine, I'm in. I'll call Mikaela and see how well her dad's doing at the garage, if she can hop off to a tropical island for a summer job or not."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Story edited by OkamiMyrrhibis, MMouse15, Flybystardancer, Hoshikage, Dwimordene, and my Wonderful Husband. A couple lines of dialogue shamelessly stolen from OkamiMyrrhibis. Certain aspects of the background in this story are taken from the Defiance comic, and Optimus' holographic driver is from Alliance, where it was very cleverly decided to have him be Peter Cullen. ^_^


	2. Road Trip

**Summer Job: Road Trip**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 12th March 2010

May 23rd, 2010

It was after four in the afternoon when Leo's last box was stuffed in the back of his mom's Impala and he turned to say his good-byes. For Sam, there was a quick handshake and a "Stay in touch, man, alright? No getting involved in more world-ending escapades without me, okay?"

"You got it," Sam agreed. "Good luck keeping ahead of Simmons."

Leo snorted and turned to Mirage. "Mira, mi amore-" he started.

She cut off his attempted embrace with an offered handshake that he reluctantly took. "Have a pleasant summer," she told him. "We'll see you in the fall."

Leo sighed, denied but not deterred. "Grow fonder of me while I'm gone," he instructed before turning to Hound.

Mirage's two suitors regarded one another for a moment, then Hound grinned and grabbed Leo in a manly hug. "Take care, Leo," Hound told him.

"You too," Leo returned. He looked over Hound's shoulder at the yellow Camaro sitting innocently in the parking lot. "And you, you take good care of them, all right? Especially him," he instructed, jerking his thumb toward Sam. "He's a walking trouble magnet."

If the Camaro flashed its lights once and its radio blared a line of song that went "Baby, you got it," it was probably just a troublesome wiring problem. Its owner had been trying to get that fixed for years, after all.

Leo's mom blared her car's horn once and he rolled his eyes and obeyed, getting into the blue vehicle's passenger side. She barely waited for him to close the door before pulling out of the parking space. Leo hurriedly rolled down his window. "I'll see you on TheRealEffingDeal!" he called as they drove away.

"Not if we're lucky!" Sam yelled back, cupping hands around his mouth to make his voice carry. He waved until the car turned a corner and there went his roommate, gone back home for the summer.

As the human turned back toward his three robotic companions, the Camaro's engine suddenly roared to a start. "Let's get this party started!" belted Pink through the open windows. "You've got a fast car, is it fast enough to drive away," Tracy Chapman agreed. "Home, home on the range..." a mournful cowboy chimed in.

* * *

><p>It hadn't even taken twenty minutes after Leo's departure for the foursome to shake the dust of the university parking lot from their heels and wheels. Somehow, miraculously (no one could quite figure out how, including the 'bot in question), the possessions of one college student and two mechanoids pretending to be college students had all fit in Bumblebee's trunk with a cooler of drinks and food neatly nestled in the back seat beside Mirage. Hound had claimed dibs on deciding their route and the dotted line ran from campsite to campsite all the way across the country. He wished they had more time to explore, but a week and a half was delaying things as far as they could.<p>

They had nine days to get to Pasadena and then on the tenth day Optimus would be putting in an appearance to answer any questions the Witwickies might have about Sam's summer employment before whisking them all off to Diego Garcia to start integrating with NEST's day-to-day procedures.

The Witwickies, Hound knew from the two weeks he and Mirage spent under their roof during the winter holidays, would not take this well. They'd been entirely gracious to Mirage and him: welcoming them into their home, charming his partner, in fact, far enough that her normal Towers reserve had thawed to unprecedented levels. The four of them had also held a couple of frank late-night discussions about what, exactly, it was that his guardians were protecting Sam against and why. Those conversations had been held long after Sam had gone to sleep, with Bumblebee keeping sensors on their mutual charge.

But somehow, their being able to pass as human made Hound and Mirage more palatable as guests and bodyguards to Judy Witwicky than Bumblebee had been for all the time he had lived with the family. They were less frightening to her, which saddened all three of the Cybertronians though all of them were careful not to show it to Sam.

"We will never fully belong to this planet," Mirage had whispered to Hound once, when all the humans had gone to sleep and the television flickered silently in the living room, bathing the two of them in light.

"I know," Hound had replied quietly, because he did. "But I still wish we could."

There are moments, though, as rare and happy as Mirage's smile, that stand out for him. Leo continuing to pursue Mirage even though he knows, has seen, what she is. Understanding from the different way they move around one another what Sam and Mikaela and Bumblebee now are to one another. And this, a quiet night beneath a star-filled sky with three Cybertronians and one human gathered around a campfire, Bumblebee unfolded into root mode because their camping site is that isolated from the other campers. Three of them have marshmallows hovering over the fire, toasting on thin sticks and Hound wishes his own people had some sort of similar nutritional intake so that Bumblebee could complete the quartet.

Hound and Mirage are different from most of their brethren in that they can subsist on human food rather than relying on the radiation of this world's star for their sustenance. It would be of little purpose, after all, to be an infiltrator who could not eat the food of those he was among.

(Decepticon rations, Mirage recounts with an elegant shudder, were _nasty_ if adequate.)

Sam shows them how to make the traditional human snack of s'mores, his smile acknowledging that Hound and Mirage and Bumblebee could simply pick the information from the air, from this world's communications system, if they so desired, but understanding in a way that few humans do that data is not experience and friendships are more important than mere knowledge.

And later, when Sam is asleep on his side of the tent and Mirage is snuggled next to Hound on their air mattress, taking the time to defrag and dream while her partner guards, Hound looks over at the human and understands why he is a Prime.

They may not ever be able to be a part of his world, but Sam, heart and soul, is a part of theirs.

* * *

><p>June 1st, 2010<p>

Her cell phone rang just as Mikaela was doing a seat adjustment on a sweet piece of Harley. Grunting with irritation, she considered for a second just letting it go to voice mail, but ultimately took the call.

"Hey, Gorgeous," her boyfriend's voice sounded in her ear, immediately banishing her irritation to the land of never-was.

"Sam!"

"Whatcha up to?"

"Nothing much," she said. It sounded like he was in a car... "Are you talking while driving?"

"No, 'Bee's driving."

"Uh-huh. And the cop that pulls you over is going to buy that why?"

There was a second's silence while he digested that and, really, it was kind of cute that he'd already forgotten California laws about talking on cell phones while driving. "Right. Mirage, switch spots with me?" And there was rustling and bumping while the two of them climbed over and under one another, swapping driver and passenger spots while 'Bee was probably going at least seventy miles per hour if the 'bot had his say. "There, back," Sam said.

"Great. So where are you?"

"Um. About five minutes away?"

"What?" Mikaela reflexively straightened up, looking out the front of the shop for any sign of yellow Camaro. "Sam!"

"Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"No, but I can't go anyplace like this!" She looked down in dismay at her greasy hands and arms and the absolutely filthy denim overalls she'd donned that morning, knowing she'd be working on some nasty jobs as part of her last day.

"So change," Sam suggested.

"I don't have any other clothes here, Samuel!"

"Mirage, are you and Mikaela about the same size?" he asked one of the other people in the car with him. "Can she borrow something to wear?" he asked after that. The answer to both questions was an overheard "Yes."

"Sam!" Mikaela protested.

"We're taking you out to lunch. Be ready in five," her boyfriend instructed, and she could just _hear_ the grin on his face.

Hanging up, she gritted her teeth and growled.

"Something wrong, sweet cheeks?" her father asked.

"Sam!" she said exasperatedly, as though that should explain everything. She huffed and consciously dropped her shoulders. "He's showing up in five and taking me out to lunch and I look like _this_!"

"Ya look fine to me, Goddess," Wheelie replied from where he was cleaning and sorting nuts and bolts into different containers.

She smiled at him. He'd freaked out the rest of the shop guys the first month or so, but eventually they'd gotten used to the little Autobot, and he was an unfailing source of support for Mikaela. "Thanks, Wheelie."

"Any time," he replied and returned his attention to his task, peering closely at a muck-encrusted nut.

By the time Bumblebee actually pulled up in front of the shop, Mikaela had at least managed to scrub her hands and arms pinkly clean again with the Borax soap any mechanic swore by, and was halfway through doing her hair. Holding the brush in her teeth, she grabbed a couple of pencils out of a cup and stuck them through a loose bun as the car's engine cut off, going out the door just in time to see Mirage get out of the car.

And, okay, the guys were used to Mikaela because she knew the ins and outs as well as they did, and she'd made it abundantly clear that she had a boyfriend and was not looking to trade in, and, well, her dad coming to work in the same garage had quelled the last few die-hards, but it was still a little irksome to see how many hands paused as eyes slid over to look at the Pretender.

Mikaela wondered if they'd still find Mirage as sexy if they knew about her little stunt putting a rapier through an apparent Secret Service agent's forehead.

...Knowing a few of her coworkers, actually, probably yes.

But then there was Sam, utterly ignoring the sculpted perfection that was Mirage to take Mikaela in his arms, breathing her in in a kiss.

"Wow," Mikaela said when they finally came up for air. "Miss me?"

"You have no idea," he fervently swore.

"Sammy," her dad said, coming up behind them. Ex-con-former-car-thief Calvin Banes hadn't exactly warmed to upper-middle-class Ivy-League-scholarship Sam Witwicky, but Mikaela was a grown woman and knew her own mind and there was no way her _dad_ was going to make her drop the best boyfriend she'd ever had. And her dad knew it, so it had never been an issue. And, granted, the whole brief international fugitive thing had scored Sam a point or two...

"Mr. Banes," Sam said, not quite letting go of Mikaela, but shaking her dad's hand.

"I'm expecting her to be home by eleven this summer," Calvin Banes instructed as though Sam had any say on her time of transportation. He'd be better off talking to a certain semi, Mikaela thought, but then was pulled away from her father and boyfriend by a slender, pale hand whose implacable grip was stronger than anything human had a right to be. Hound and Mirage were good at imitating humans, but there were certain things it was impossible for even them to change or hide. Hound was at Bumblebee's trunk, going through an oversized duffel of Mirage's belongings and pulling out an outfit that would probably look good on Mikaela even though her coloring and Mirage's were so different. Mikaela just managed to draw a heart on Bumblebee's paneling before being hustled off to change.

* * *

><p>"WHAT?" she demanded, half-standing in shock before catching herself and sitting back down. She cast apologetic glances around the other denizens of the restaurant. "Samuel," she hissed, looking back at him, suddenly furious, "this had better be a joke."<p>

And damn it, he had his serious face on, which meant that it wasn't a joke. Stealing a look at Hound and Mirage over the crepes they'd all ordered, Mikaela saw in their expressions that it wasn't a joke either.

"It's not my fault," Sam breathed so that no one not sitting at their table could hear. "Take it up with the dead guys in the Matrix if you want someone to blame."

"I'm having a little trouble seeing how it's not your fault that you're a _Prime_," Mikaela hissed at him.

"Oh, so it's my fault that we needed to bring Optimus back to life," he batted at her.

"No, that's Megatron's fault," she retorted. "It's your fault you picked up that Cube sliver at your house which started the whole thing."

"Oh, and it's my fault Hoover Dam and Las Vegas happened, which is why the sliver was on my sweatshirt."

"No, that's the morons at Sector Seven's fault," Mikaela parried. "They're the ones who stuck _him_ and _it_ in the same facility."

"Fine, let's just blame Grandpa Archibald for finding Megatron in the first case."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"You know," Hound commented to Mirage, "as much as I study their species, sometimes I just really don't understand them."

* * *

><p>June 2nd, 2010<p>

"You're WHAT?" Judy Witwicky's shriek could be heard from outside the house. Optimus resisted the urge to shift uneasily on his tires even as Sam tried his best to placate his mother. Ron Witwicky, from the sound of things, was also trying to rein in his wife's outburst. Sam, Optimus mused, probably got his easy acceptance of the outre from his father, whose reaction to most Autobot-related phenomena seemed to be "resigned."

Sam's spunk, however, definitely came from his mother, who burst through the front door trailing hapless males in her wake, marched down the front steps, and pointed a finger at the flame-painted semi truck parked at her curb. "You!" she declared loudly. "This is all YOUR fault!"

Ironhide was right, Optimus thought ruefully. The female of the human species was definitely the more dangerous when provoked. All of a sudden Bumblebee's insistence on taking Mikaela home (her residence being several miles away from the Witwicky's) made more sense.

"Mom. Mom, calm down," Sam was pleading with his mother.

Looking at the pair of them, Ron Witwicky sighed and crossed his arms before turning back to the Peterbilt. "So," he said in the conversational tone his wife was failing to maintain, "he's a Prime and you're a Prime."

"Yes," Optimus admitted.

"Which makes you kind of brothers," Ron continued.

"I would be honored to consider Sam my brother," Optimus agreed.

Ron smiled a very small smile. "Judy!"

"What?" she demanded, turning toward him.

"If they're brothers, we just adopted a Prime."

It took a second before anyone moved after that statement, but then Judy's eyes lit up. Alarmed, Optimus sent a brief plea in his own language to his human brother. Who was, from the way he was smiling, suddenly realizing a new advantage to no longer being an only child. "Sorry, Optimus," Sam said, looking remarkably like his father all of a sudden as Judy descended upon the Cybertronian in a much better mood than a moment before, "you're on your own with this one."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Story edited by OkamiMyrrhibis, Hoshikage, and my Wonderful Husband. The restaurant Sam, Mikaela, Hound, and Mirage end up dining at is Wild Thyme in Pasadena, where the Witwicky house and Sam's high school are... even if his driver's license in RotF says Los Angeles. Wild Thyme has awesome crepes and an even better mint milkshake. ^_^


	3. Bridge to Nowhere

**Summer Job: Bridge to Nowhere**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 1st April 2010

June 3rd, 2010

They'd both been to Diego Garcia before, so it wasn't like Sam and Mikaela were unfamiliar with NEST's facilities. It was instead the sudden change from bright noon at the overlook to pitch darkness on the beach that threw the both of them.

"That's definitely going to take some getting used to," Hound commented, optics refocusing to pierce through the darkness.

"Hey, he's way better at landings than the last guy," Wheelie said, picking a wheel up and shaking off the sand.

Mikaela had stabilized herself by grabbing onto Sam. "Jesus," she muttered, "what time is it here?"

"Two of hearts!" some '80s girl group piped from Bumblebee's speakers.

"Two _a.m._?" asked Sam. "Ugh. We're on night shift, then?"

"Hardly," Master Sergeant Epps said, making his way down the slope of the beach toward them. "NEST never sleeps." Mikaela snorted in disbelief at that, but Epps ignored her, looking up at Optimus. "How was the trip, O.P.?"

"Relatively uneventful," the Autobot leader replied. "Hopefully all was well here, Sergeant?"

"Not a peep outta the 'Cons," the human answered. "Simmons's got some energy readings popping up he wants you to take a look over, though. Low-level, _probably_ nothing urgent, he says."

"Wonderful," Optimus rumbled.

Epps just grinned, all white teeth in a dark face. "Perks of leadership."

* * *

><p>Lennox showed up, yawning, at just after five, while Sam was trying to fit the base structural knowledge of Cybertronians in his head against the feeling of power tools in his hands. "This is not a good idea," Sam reiterated. "You do know that everything mechanical I've ever touched I've destroyed, right?" he asked Ratchet and Mikaela. Behind him, Bumblebee nodded vigorously, obviously remembering the Barbeque Grill Incident Of '08.<p>

"Wuss," Wheelie muttered none too quietly.

"Don't make me step on you," Sam retorted.

"And what if Bumblebee is damaged and neither myself, Jolt, nor Mikaela is around?" Ratchet asked archly, gesturing at the yellow 'bot who sat leaning back against the wall.

"Suck it up, Sam," Mikaela advised.

"Let me guess, early childhood soap box derby trauma?" Will Lennox called out, buttoning up his camos as he crossed the building.

"Oh, please, even Pasadena's not that retro," Sam replied.

"Soap box derbies aren't _that_ outdated!" Lennox protested.

"What, you won one?" Mikaela asked.

The Major grinned. "Three time champion." His smile faded, though, as he looked at the two teenagers. Finally he sighed and pulled up a chair, flipping it around so that he was sitting backwards, his arms crossed on the back as he looked up at the two of them. "You guys want to tell me what's going on?" he asked quietly, gaze flicking from one to the other. "My _wife_ can't even come to Diego Garcia, but NEST is having to file W-2s for you guys. I'd be a lot easier on that if I knew why."

Sam huffed a sigh and looked away. "Sam..." Mikaela started.

"Fine." He looked back at Lennox. "Between the Cube in Mission City, that sliver of it that ended up in my clothes, and that whole _wonderful_ fiasco in Jordan and Egypt last year, apparently I'm somehow a Prime."

Lennox's eyes, to his credit, were only a little wider. "So that's why you went all Carrie on us?"

Sam shrugged. "The Fallen could do it, and so can I."

"But not Optimus."

Sam shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway. Then again, he couldn't teleport before, either."

"Wonderful." Lennox ran a hand through his hair. "Is single-generation evolution a trait of Cybertronians, or is it just this planet having a weird effect on you guys?" he asked Ratchet.

The medic snorted. "Primes are special," he informed the humans. "Even," he said, eyeing Sam, "unique."

"Great, Ratchet. Just what I always wanted," Sam dryly replied.

"So where is the big guy?" asked Lennox.

"Off consulting with Jetstorm," Ratchet answered. "Then, I believe, speaking with Agent Simmons regarding some anomalies."

"Right." Lennox nodded once, gaze unfocused. "So," he said a minute later, refocusing, "what do you guys need?"

"Damaged twins to work on," Mikaela replied, smiling sweetly, hefting a drill.

Wheelie glanced at her and edged away just a little. "You can be kinda scary sometimes, Goddess."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I need someplace where I can work on the TK thing without damaging anything or people freaking out."

"Well, I'm sure Ironhide will be happy to help donate damaged twins," Lennox assured Mikaela. "Meantime, there's always Prime's weekly checkup..."

"Weekly?" she asked, sounding surprised, and glanced upward at Ratchet, her expression questioning.

"Yeah, weekly," Lennox drawled with weight, also looking up at the medic.

* * *

><p>Ratchet vented a sigh of frustration. "Your attempts at getting information out of me have not improved in subtlety," he informed Major Lennox. Bumblebee played a clip of a snicker, showing his amusement, though whether at the Major's attempt or Ratchet's reply, Ratchet did not know.<p>

Lennox merely shrugged. "A guy's gotta try."

"I was chief emissary to the High Council of Elders," Ratchet countered. "You'd have better luck getting your organic plasma out of a turnip."

"Wait, why Optimus?" Sam asked. "I mean, Ironhide I'd understand, or Arcee, but Optimus?" The question, and possible reasons why clearly tumbled over themselves in the new Prime's mind. "Is this because of the death thing?"

And, fraggit, Ratchet couldn't exactly _lie_ to a Prime, even if he was an alien. The best he could do was not answer.

"It is, isn't it," Sam asked, and it was not a question so much as a statement. "Because he came back."

"Unlike your kind, we cannot be simply revived," was all Ratchet would admit.

"Ratchet, I was _dead_," Sam bit out. "They stopped giving me CPR and stuff. Don't tell me I came back because of anything _human_."

And that, too, Ratchet could not deny no matter how much he wanted to. But Sam was a Prime. Two Primes had risen from the dead that day. It went against everything rational...

"Question," Major Lennox interspersed. "How does Megatron coming back fit into this?"

Ratchet hrmphed. "He cheated, and his followers went down the wrong path."

Both of Lennox's eyebrows rose in clear inquiry.

"Ya see, using the Allspark to bring mechs and femmes back to life... it ain't exactly the best idea," Wheelie explained to the humans. "Even a scrap drone like me knows that."

"Why not?" asked Mikaela.

"Thriller~!" Bumblebee's speakers blared. "Night creatures callin', the dead start to walk in their masquerade. There's no escaping the jaws of the alien this time~"

"THANK YOU, Bumblebee," Ratchet said, glaring. This was not a matter for levity. The scout raised his hands and shrugged helplessly. Ratchet's ire evaporated at the fresh reminder of his comrade's particular inability, and his own failure to repair the damage. He sighed and slumped, turning back to the humans in his audience. "What gets brought back... isn't what died," Ratchet explained uncomfortably. "The spark rapidly degrades. Madness sets in."

"So that's why you guys never used it to bring Jazz back," Mikaela said, understanding.

Ratchet nodded. "Jazz deserved better than that. Pit, even Megatron deserved better than that."

"An insane Megatron," Lennox said quietly, staring blankly into space. "Shit..."

Sam looked from Lennox back to Ratchet. "But... Optimus and I weren't brought back that way."

"The Matrix has been lost to us for so long it's an unknown quantity," Ratchet replied with a dismissive wave. "You'll forgive me for being cautious."

"The Matrix wasn't what brought either of us back," Sam insisted. "We were at the Gateway to the Well. It was the original Primes who sent both of us back."

"Impossible," Ratchet scoffed.

"I know what I saw, and what they said," Sam replied with calm confidence. "And Optimus showed me what he saw and what they said to him. So unless you're going to tell me that _Optimus Prime_ and a human child have the exact same afterlife delusions..."

The possibility, Ratchet admitted, was so unlikely as to be laughable. Even with the Cybertronian knowledge in his mind, Sam was human and subject first and foremost to his own cultural imprintings. "You understand," Ratchet said quietly, "that as a medic I cannot simply accept the assertions of my patients at face value."

"As long as you understand that as Primes, we know what happened to us," Sam replied with an implacable faith that reminded Ratchet of the other Prime's. "I may not understand all of how the universe works, Ratchet, but I know that there's some kind of order, a _reason_ we're all here and things work the way they do."

"I thought you were an atheist," Mikaela said quietly.

Sam shrugged and looked a little apologetic. "So did I."

* * *

><p>Though they technically could have dropped their human guises while on Diego Garcia, neither Mirage nor her partner did so. It aided their allies' perception of the Autobots as "just like us, only different" to view her and Hound in human seeming, and avoided all sort of psychological difficulties involved with human views on what robots their size "should" look like. The fact that she drew gazes with her facade was not any part of her calculations, regardless what murmurs she might have overheard.<p>

Simmons, at least, understood that. His perceptiveness (and Hound's periodic urgings and tendency toward cultural exploration) was part of what had drawn her to him. She might have considered Sam as a partner as well, but the human Prime was completely devoted to his girlfriend and his guardian. Leo, despite being occasionally amusing in his pursuit of her, held no interest for Mirage. There was nothing deeper to him than what could be seen on the surface. Simmons, though... in spite of his history with her people, when she looked at him she saw that he possessed the same sense of wonder, that same internal light, that drew her to Sam and, always, to Hound.

"-And that's that," the human in question finished presenting his findings to Optimus Prime, Jetstorm, Sergeant Epps, Hound, and herself. He looked up expectantly from the data simulations he'd presented on the holographic light table.

"Absolutely fascinating," Jetstorm said, peering closely at the table and the data it presented. "All this, made by organics. And to be detecting such miniscule proton waves..."

"Stark Industries only makes the best," Epps replied. "You got any thoughts on those readings?"

"Possibly." With only a slight earthquake, Jetstorm sat down on the ground. "Back when we were first discovering this system, not all mechanoids were possessing deep space capabilities. Once an appropriate sun and planet had been discovered, one of our," and here he jutted a thumb at himself to indicate Seekers as a collective, "first tasks was to build a transportation network back to Cybertron, so that workers and materials could be brought to create a Harvester, and for the resultant energy to then be siphoned back to Cybertron."

"A stable space bridge?" Optimus questioned incredulously.

"Wait a minute," Simmons interjected. "You're telling me we have a back door to Cybertron sitting here on our planet?"

"It would be long disused," Jetstorm dismissed. "When he left this planet, the Fallen damaged it in his rage when he went back to Cybertron, to..." His voice died away as he looked at Optimus, then looked away. "To slaughter the other Primes," he finished.

"Leaving you here to find the Matrix," Hound surmised.

"Yes." Jetstorm nodded once. "Leaving many of us here, both those who could not transverse the depths of space... and those of us who had too little energon left to return to Cybertron. Only, we never found the Matrix, and the Fallen was never calling to us or coming here again. Eventually, most of us were to be falling into stasis from lack of energon. And lack of purpose."

Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder. "Purposeless no longer, my friend."

"That is true," Jetstorm replied, systems humming in pleasure and features giving a small smile in the human style he had already adopted.

"Touching though all this may be," Simmons interjected, "if we've got a potentially active space bridge here, that may or may not be a problem depending on who knows how to use it."

"Earth ain't ready for a full-scale invasion," Epps agreed, leaning forward and examining the map.

Seeing where the epicenter of Simmons' readings were, Mirage couldn't help but be reminded of the musical version of The War of the Worlds to which her roommate at Princeton had introduced her. "Very few Decepticons are tripods," she remarked obliquely. Hound, Jetstorm, and the Prime looked at her blankly, but a second later both Simmons and Epps began cracking up, and she allowed herself a small smile of victory.

"It would not be being a problem, I think," Jetstorm mused after a few moments' quizzical observation of the humans' laughter. "None of us save the Primes were knowing the full schematic of the Space Bridges, each only a part. And if all the Primes fell, that knowledge, it would be gone with them."

"So we can't reach Cybertron, and Cybertron can't reach us," Epps summarized. "Probably for the best right now."

"Yes," Optimus agreed, though his tone was soft.

"What up, Big Buddha?" Epps inquired.

Optimus' smile was sad. "There were many we had to leave behind on Cybertron. Even now, many of us are not space-capable."

"Old friends, huh?" Simmons asked, sympathy in his voice. Mirage shuttered her optics, willing memories away. She could name far too many of those they'd had to leave behind, and had no idea if they were even alive. A hand, Hound's, brushed her hair back.

"There's nothing we can do for them," he murmured to her, lips at her temple. "Any more than there was before we knew of the bridge."

Mirage nodded wordlessly that she understood. It didn't make her spark ache any less.

And when she opened her optics again, Simmons was looking at her and Hound, his expression all too understanding.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Edited by OkamiMyrrhibis. Stray references to Iron Man and the inevitability of Galvatron are, indeed, intentional.


	4. Walking on Sunshine

**Summer Job: Walking on Sunshine**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 13th June 2010

June 9th, 2010

Sam rambled. It was occasionally annoying, but mostly reassuring as the one-sided conversation let Bumblebee know his charge was all right. It was when Sam shut up that things tended to go south. It was also quite reminiscent of his friend Bluestreak (and oh how he hoped Blue was alive and well somewhere in the universe), a thought which pleased Bumblebee. He hoped Sam would someday get to meet Bluestreak. He suspected they would get along well. Though to be fair, he had seldom seen Sam _not_ end up getting along well with another... high school bullies and Decepticons were the only examples that came to mind. And there were certain similarities of personality there...

Sam's rambling was usually interesting to listen to. Particularly when he let his analytical thought processes run aloud, working through why something did or didn't work for him, and once in a while tossing off a tantalizing idea regarding such things as how to safely produce certain unstable alloys here on Earth, or a possible method of converting passive solar energy to energon. Such processes were unfortunately beyond Bumblebee's scientific ability to follow and so he wasn't able to offer his friend much advice other than to perhaps approach Jolt or Ratchet with his ideas.

Slightly more enlightening were descriptions of how Sam's telekinesis worked. "I can't _fly_," he expounded, probably as much to himself as to Bumblebee. "I can pick other things up, just not myself. So the problem has to be that it's all from my point of view, right?"

Bumblebee made an encouraging noise and nodded.

"So, if I pick up something I'm _standing_ on..." Sam guessed aloud.

Ah. That explained why this morning he'd come out of his parents' home carrying a skateboard, which he'd tucked into Bumblebee's back seat as they'd gone to pick up Mikaela. Bumblebee watched as Sam set his board on the ground and stood on it, knees carefully flexed, weight low, arms spread to help his balance.

Slowly, the board rose into the air, Sam atop it, seemingly drifting weightless over the blue stunt cushion.

"Excellent," Sam said with a grin. Bumblebee played a clip of applause.

Unfortunately, Sam also had a bad habit of letting himself get distracted.

"Sam!" Mikaela called, walking into the building where Bumblebee was spotting the young Prime.

"Hey, Mikaela," Sam called back. "Whoa-whoa!"

His fall from the hovering skateboard was spectacular. Fortunately NEST had long since invested in the same type of inflatable cushion used by professional stuntmen, and Bumblebee managed to snag the skateboard before it fell on its owner.

"_I told you so~_" a young girl's voice chided through his speakers as Sam thrashed his way toward the edge of the cushion.

"Thanks, 'Bee. Lots," Sam said sarcastically as he rolled off the last bit of blue.

"Are you okay?" Mikaela asked, taking hold of one arm and peering at Sam's face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You know, pride goeth before a fall and all that."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm fine," Sam repeated himself. "What's up?"

"It's lunchtime."

* * *

><p>_Hey babe where r u?_/

Mirage blinked, pausing to check her messaging system again, then vented a near-inaudible sigh, recognizing the source of the message.

/_Tropical island,_/ she responded, stealthing from one tree to another, keeping her optical and audial receptors wide open the whole time. IR, unfortunately, was completely useless in this humid heat. /_Where are you, Leo?_/

/_Club in Miami,_/ he replied a few moments later. She checked her chronometer. At just past noon on Diego Garcia, it was after two in the morning in Florida. Did Leo not have a curfew? Did the _city_ not have a curfew? /_Bored,_/ he added.

She never would have guessed, Mirage thought sardonically. She spied a target and silently levelled her weapon. Aiming, she shot and immediately vanished to the sound of a pain-filled yelp.

/_What r u up 2?_/ Leo sent next, and she wondered if the underage human had managed to cadge drinks off someone.

/_Paintball,_/ she sent back.

/_Winning?_/

/_At the moment, yes._/

/_Awsum._/

She waited, still in the foliage as a NEST member stalked past her, his equipment failing to detect the Pretender.

/_Miss u,_/ Leo sent, and now she was sure he'd been drinking. He wasn't normally prone toward maudlin. /_Haven't found any fotos of u on the web._/

Mirage bit back on her response that she should certainly _hope_ not. For either type of photographs that came to mind given Leo's proclivities. /_Go home,_/ she told him as she started stalking after her would-be hunter. /_Take some aspirin and water. Go to sleep._/

/_Call me in the morning?_/ he texted hopefully.

Simmering, Mirage shot the NEST operative in the back.

If this was what Leo was getting up to during his summer break, she was _so_ going to sic Simmons on his protege.

* * *

><p>"It's not like... like just reaching out and picking something up with your hand," Sam explained to Ratchet and Bumblebee and Mikaela and Lennox and Epps and any number of other NEST operatives over lunch, demonstrating by picking up the salt shaker in one hand then setting it back down. "It's more marionettish. Reaching out with my energy and using that to manipulate the cosmic strings to pick it up for me." He looked at the salt shaker again, fingers splayed over it and wiggling as if to demonstrate his puppetry metaphor. As his eyes narrowed just a little in concentration, it rose a wobbly foot into the air then set itself back down on the table.<p>

"The way your energy field flares when you do that..." Ratchet muttered, processors whirring in cross-reference. "I've not seen anything like it, even among Cybertronians."

"What, you've never run into Force users anywhere else in the galaxy?" Lieutenant Casey asked him straight-faced.

"No," Ratchet flatly returned.

"To be fair, this _is_ a Cybertronian trait Sam's developed, Ratchet," Major Lennox pointed out, grinning across his sandwich.

"So you got an upper limit, kid?" Epps asked.

Sam looked considering, then shrugged. "Haven't hit it yet," he replied.

"Samuel," Ratchet gritted out, his flux receptors _not_ failing to notice the continual quantum charge Sam was putting forth.

Captain Graham raised an inquiring eyebrow. Smirking, Sam pointed down.

Bumblebee glanced down and jolted in startlement just as Graham yelped "Bloody Christ!", grabbing onto the edge of the table, making everyone else at the picnic table look at the ground.

The ground that was six feet of air below the table and benches. And Bumblebee. And Ratchet.

"Sam..." said Mikaela nervously.

"Just a sec," he replied and focused inward. Table and benches and mechs floated back down, touching down on the ground again as smooth as silk, whatever that human phrase meant.

And Sam was on the receiving end of stares from nearly all of NEST until Lennox said pensively, "You know, I can think of an awful lot of situations where that could come in handy." Expressions went considering all the way down the table with nods shortly following.

"It's not the doing," Sam replied. "That I've got a handle on-"

"Riiiight," Bumblebee chimed using a clip from the comedian Bill Cosby.

"_Mostly,_" Sam continued, glaring at the yellow scout. "It's the doing without thinking that I've gotta work on."

"What do you mean?" Mikaela asked.

"Well, take walking. Walking's easy, right? Pick up one foot, move it forward, put it down. Repeat with the other side."

"Yeah. So?"

"How long's it take to learn to walk? How long until running becomes instinctive?"

"Years," Epps, the father of five, replied.

"I'd rather have it ready before I need it," Sam said flatly. And that was something none of them could rebutt.

Mikaela nodded and picked at the chips on her plate. Then a sudden brilliant grin lit her expression. "So, are you gonna get your mom to whip you up some Jedi robes?"

* * *

><p>June 14th, 2010<p>

It was with some surprise that Sam stumbled on the small graveyard during his early morning exploration of the island. Bumblebee had let him wander off unescorted for a change, figuring that if he couldn't be safe on NEST's island, there was no safe place on Earth to be had. Mind, that was AFTER Sam had agreed to carry a tracking device and a phone that even Decepticons-in-orbit were supposed to be unable to hack...

It was even more surprising to find Optimus in the graveyard, carefully cleaning the headstones with hands that seemed way too big for how delicately they went about the task. On the other hand, Sam supposed he should be used to meeting up with Optimus in these kind of places by now. Mainland, they were one of the few places that an Autobot would be assured of enough solitude to risk transforming.

"Hey," he said, walking forward.

"Sam," Optimus greeted him, nodding in acknowledgement as he briefly stopped his work.

Sam watched for a few more minutes as sand was brushed away and greenery removed, before it occurred to him to ask, "Wait, why's there a graveyard here?"

"This island was once populated, Sam," Optimus replied softly.

"What happened?" Probably atomic testing or something, Sam mused.

"The native population was forcibly relocated a few decades ago so that this island might be used as a military base by your government and the government of the United Kingdom."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" Sam demanded.

Optimus stopped at his task and turned to look at Sam.

"People don't do that anymore!" Sam said, incensed. He'd had to take whole _classes_ on this stuff in high school. The rights of man, or whatever, he felt, were simple, basic, and entirely obvious. "They can't! That's, it's illegal or something! Indians have protected rights and stuff these days! What?" he demanded at Optimus' expression.

"You're still very young, Sam," the elder Prime said, "and you place far more faith in justice than I fear the universe allows."

"Bullshit," Sam said flatly, crossing his arms. "Politics-and I'm sorry, 'cause I know you have to play the game, here or back on Cybertron-is a crock. I'm old enough to know that. But there are _laws_ about this kind of thing. Governments can't just relocate people like that anymore."

"I'm afraid they can and have," Optimus told him. "Since they began to be evicted, the Chagossians have been denied their right to return to their homes here time and time again by the British government that owns this island."

"And you're okay with this?" Sam asked.

"Not in the least," Optimus replied. There was an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. He shook his head. "But Earth's governments have limited use for the political opinions of aliens. Terrestrial or otherwise."

Sam snorted, able to picture all too easily the reception that Optimus bringing up native rights concerns would get in some political teleconference. "They only want you for your weapons, huh?" he asked quietly.

"It seems to be the human way," Optimus replied, and returned to his self-imposed task.

"Not all of us," Sam told him firmly, and walked to the stone nearest him. "Can I help?"

The Prime paused again, then gave a small smile. "I would be honored. And so, I think," he said, nodding at the graves, "would they."

Sam set to cleaning the graves of the indigenous dead.

* * *

><p>June 15th, 2010<p>

"So," Seymour Simmons had said with the infinite patience that was his trademark, "England?"

It got him a glare, which made him smile inside. He'd worn down politicians, bureaucrats, and the rock that was Tom Banacheck. His next challenge was giant alien robots older than dirt. It was good to have goals. Kept you active. Like the New York Times crossword section, but more fun.

His once-a-day pestering had won him twelve glares from Ratchet, three grunts of annoyance from Ironhide, four thrown pens and two paperclips from Lennox (Seymour had, of course, kept the office supplies: invaluable, those), four eye-rolls and walk-offs from Epps, ten polite agreements from Graham which nonetheless got him nowhere, and a total of five noble speeches from Optimus Prime. Seymour figured that if he kept it up and the Decepticons kept their shiny necks out of trouble, he'd have them all cracked in a week, ready to country-hop just to shut him up.

"Whatchu doin'?" the green idiot asked, appearing out of nowhere as subtly as an alien robot with all the vast intelligence of a chicken could. Which was to say not at all.

"Working on a master plan," Seymour replied jauntily, crossing the vast expanse of white sand and black tarmac that was the NEST base.

"What plan be dat, my homey?" the orange idiot, following the other half of his IQ, asked.

"Britain," Seymour replied from behind his dark glasses, hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he savored the word and the images it conjured. Ah, clandestine excursions into foreign countries. It always got the blood rushing, doing things you weren't supposed to do yet were entirely legally authorized to do. Plausible deniability, his old friend. "Home of The Beatles and Bond, Big Ben and beheadings, Shakespeare and greasy food. Wonderful place."

The twins exchanged a glance over his head. "You sure you up to somethin' chill?" Huey asked.

"As cold as salmon on ice," Seymour replied, unruffled.

The twins fell back a little bit. And oh how gratifying was it to hear a "Dat dude, he a little bit crazy," especially coming from Dewey. Talking to the idiot twins, he admitted, was _almost_ as good as talking to himself. Better in some ways, because they were so easy to weird out.

Yes, he, Seymour Simmons, was a man with a plan, and he knew just the robots to help him make it happen.

He just had to make them want to get rid of him enough to make it happen.

Smiling and whistling, he went about his day.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thanks to Hoshikage for line help, and OkamiMyrrhibis for beta'ing. Also, yeah, Optimus' take on the relatively recent history of Diego Garcia...


	5. Celestial Calculator

**Summer Job: Celestial Calculator**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 5th July 2010

June 16th, 2010

"You do realize," Sam asked Optimus, "that Ratchet is kind of expecting either one of us to go off the deep end at any moment and turn into a CPU-eating zombie, right?"

"I had noticed the increased medical checkups for both of us, yes," Optimus agreed. "Ratchet worries too much."

Sam snorted, leaning one elbow on Optimus' passenger-side window frame and letting the warm summer night air ruffle his short hair. "That's what I told him."

"And what did he reply?"

"That somebody had to in this infernal, glitching, rag-tag group of interspecies lemmings. That's a quote, by the way."

"He does have a way with words."

"I don't think we're going to, though, are we?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Me neither."

* * *

><p>June 17th, 2010<p>

Okay, so it had taken him a little longer than anticipated to get men and mechs to cave on his need to investigate that theoretically-defunct space bridge in England. This, Seymour could live with, especially as Lennox and his boys had extracted payment in the form of an intra-base ice hockey game. Amused as any set of spectators, the Autobots had agreed to provide the ice (in the tropics, in _June_) and somehow magically the base budget had coughed up the funds for gear. All Seymour had to do was recruit his team.

"No," Witwicky categorically refused. "No, no, no and no. No way. I don't know how to play."

"You," Seymour informed the kid, "are going to play. I'm making you goalie."

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"Now, Lennox has no shortage of willing baboons to play on his side. Us, we've got to be smarter. It's you and me, kid, against alla them."

"NEST versus the rest," Banes chirped from where she was poking up inside the medic's wrist.

Ratchet harumphed. "And who are your other players?"

"Her," Seymour declared, pointing at the girl.

"What?" she demanded.

"You don't think you can handle a few Marines?" he goaded.

"Oh, I can handle them, all right. It's your funeral I'm plotting," Mikaela retorted.

"I'm also calling dibs on Mirage and Hound," Seymour informed Ratchet.

"And your sixth?"

Seymour's grin was wolfish. "Madsen."

* * *

><p>Somehow, Sam wasn't sure quite how, he'd been dragged into the madness that was NEST's downtime.<p>

The base's Olympic-sized swimming pool had been frozen solid in seconds with one of Chromia's little devices, probably a sibling to the one she'd used to sublimate ice in Antarctica. Gearing up in ice skates, padding, and mask had been insane in the tropical heat. Not to mention the fact that Sam was a skateboarder, not an inline skater, and he wasn't sure he wasn't just going to fall flat on his face the first time he tried to stop a puck.

Mikaela, of course, was utterly adaptable. Maggie was quick and ruthless, and Simmons... well, Sam supposed growing up in New York had to've taught the guy a few things.

All that, though, was nothing compared to coming out and seeing Hound doing fancy jumps and spins like something out of the Olympics, while Mirage tested the ice with all the speed and ferocity of a professional hockey player.

Yeah, role reversal much.

Around the edge of the pool humans and mechs jostled for prime viewing space, and Sam suspected a few of the base's cameras were feeding to control room screens for the benefit of those on duty. And oh fuck the NEST guys looked even bigger, bulkier, and scarier with knives strapped to their feet.

Once again, Sam wondered what he was doing here.

"I expect a clean game from all of you," Ratchet intoned. "Frag each other up, and I _will_ make sure you regret it later." He dropped the puck on the ice.

And the game was on.

* * *

><p>June 18th, 2010<p>

The first annual NEST interspecies hockey game had been a rousing success, with the final score being 5-3 in NEST's favor, due largely to Sam's incompetence as a goalie. Though there had been one memorable stop where he'd yelped, gloved hand before his face, the puck hovering untouched in the air inches away. Mirage and Hound had played exactly as well as Seymour had expected, seemingly born to the ice. Mikaela hadn't been bad either, for a California girl. But Madsen... oh, he had _lucked out_ when he'd picked her for his team.

Maggie was a _shark_ on the ice. She might wear Barbie heels in day-to-day life, but no one on the opposing team was going to take the blonde tech for granted any more.

"Everybody packed and ready to go?" Seymour called, looking around. Twenty humans, including himself, Sam, Mikaela, and Glen Whitmann. Seven or eight-depending on how you counted Arcee's two bodies-mechs. And one cleared section of tarmac that had been designated the departure point.

As his watch ticked over to seven a.m., he heard Jetstorm murmuring something in that robotic language to Optimus, felt the weird twisting and saw the flashing lights of the teleport-

-and then blinked, eyes and ears adjusting to darkness.

* * *

><p><em>Home<em> was Captain Alexander Graham's first thought.

It was ridiculous, of course, to think that there was some inherent magical difference between British soil and that of anyplace else on the planet, but still he couldn't help that wistful feeling of homecoming.

Hot and muggy even at two in the morning. There was no place like Britain in the summer.

"Right, round up," Major Lennox called. "Local time's 0200. Sunrise is at 0443. We need to be done and extracted by that point. Let's move!" The Autobots, one after another, dropped into vehicle mode. Their American license plates rippled briefly as they changed to elongated British number plates

Alex mentally snorted. As outlandish as most of their vehicle forms were, a change of plate didn't help in the least.

Arcee's riders flickered into view as Alex passed her, heading for Jolt. The quiet medical apprentice, he'd found, was good company and the two of them had spent hours asking and answering questions about one another's cultures.

"Twenty miles north," Jolt reported as Alex closed the door. The blue Autobot pulled up off the verge and onto the road as the last of his passengers finished stowing weapons and fastening their seat belts. "Or would that be thirty-two kilometers?"

"We use both here," Alex replied. "Stick with miles." Then he looked up out of the windshield and yelped, grabbing for Jolt's wheel. "Other side of the road!"

If a string of flashy vehicles could look abashed as they all drifted to the _left_ side of the road, this lot certainly did.

* * *

><p>Mikaela's list of countries she'd seen was fairly short: America, Mexico, Egypt, Jordan, and Diego Garcia. She could now add England to her list. Or she could if the streetlights illuminated anything beyond Ratchet's bulk on the road ahead of them, Ironhide's night-black form pacing behind them, and seemingly empty fields separated by hedgerows.<p>

Someday she would have to see about getting a passport and actually getting stamps in it to prove she'd been places.

But she and Sam had a map in Bumblebee's back seat, one they pored over with each turn on and off the tiny British roads, until Sam frowned and groaned theatrically, flopping back against the faux leather of Bumblebee's seat.

"What is it?" Lieutenant Casey asked from the front seat.

"I think I know where we're going," Sam replied.

"Where ya goin', partner?" Bumblebee queried.

Sam's index finger tapped at a notation on the map. Mikaela picked it up to read the tiny print, and her eyes widened.

* * *

><p>"Stonehenge," Seymour breathed from his position in Ratchet's passenger seat. "Awesome!"<p>

Their little convoy pulled off the A-344 and engines cut out, allowing human passengers to exit the sentient vehicles. Across the road and beyond a low fence, the ancient stone circle loomed in the darkness of the night.

The fence, of course, was no obstacle. The military men (Seymour proudly among them in this ability) merely hopped it. Witwicky flew himself and Banes over. Whitmann was given a gracious lift over by Ratchet. The robots, for the most part, ignored it, just stepping over, with a hop in Arcee/Chromia's cases.

Pacing to the center of the standing stones, Seymour flipped open his radiation sensor. "-And the crowd goes wild," he concluded to its frantic beeping that indicated Cybertronian traces, and shut off the device before it became too annoying.

"So, like, where is it, then?" Epps asked.

Looming over the other Autobots like the stones loomed over the humans, Jetstorm snorted. "It is down, of course. Beneath all this accumulated... earth."

"So how're we gonna get at it?" Glen whined. "We didn't bring any shovels."

"We don't need 'em," Sam said quietly, and damn if the kid didn't sound like a man for a second. "We've got me."

* * *

><p>"Absolutely not!" Alex declared. "We <em>cannot<em> destroy Stonehenge!"

"They're just rocks piled up against one another," Ironhide argued. "Any fool could do the same."

"This structure is forty-five hundred years old!"

"Do you know how little time that actually is?" the night-black mech asked. And, yes, Alex _had_ actually paid attention in his briefing, thank you very much, and knew that the very youngest of the Autobots had to be at least twice that age.

But that wasn't his point.

"It's not that little of a time to _us_," he hissed. "The damage in Egypt and Jordan was unavoidable. _This_ is not. In three days this site is going to be flocked with neo-pagans for their solstice rituals. _You_ explain to them why Stonehenge is suddenly gone!"

"It's not actually, you know," Sam broke in.

"Not what?" Major Lennox asked him.

"Not actually a solstice calculator or anything. The angles don't line up right for anything, even accounting for axial shift."

"So what is it, then?" Glen Whitmann asked.

"I think..." Sam looked around the standing stones again. "I think it's a way to remember."

"Remember?" Ratchet asked, raising an optical ridge.

Sam nodded. "We built a pyramid over that machine. We carved rooms in the rock in Petra. And we put standing stones over a space bridge that had been buried twenty feet deep by time." He started pacing. "Humans tell ourselves stories about a war among the angels, about the destroyer, the one who fell." He stopped and looked up at Optimus. "The gate to the garden of Eden was guarded by an angel with a flaming sword."

Having seen the Prime's weaponry in action, Alex got the implication and swallowed dryly.

"Sam, you can't think..." Lennox started, then stopped as if he didn't know what to say.

"I don't know what to think," Sam said, shaking his head. "But I know our answers are down there."

"You're serious," Agent Simmons said.

Sam merely nodded.

* * *

><p>"Stupid sheep," Sam muttered under his breath, trying not to think of how many tons of dirt and rock he was holding above the British countryside by force of will alone. "Move!"<p>

The sheep, unfortunately, did not get the clue.

Lennox, fortunately, looked at Ironhide, whose expression was shifting over to "let me just get my cannons out," and took the initiative. "Come on, shift those sheep!" he shouted, rallying his men into action.

In short order the ovines were herded out of the way and part of the grasslands was much, much higher, standing stones peeking over the top of the new butte. It slumped a little, dirt spilling into a hill as Sam released it, but the stones themselves stayed in place. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and stood from where he'd knelt on the grass, walking over to the edge of the twenty-foot-deep hole he'd excavated.

Inside the huge pit, the remaining clods of dirt were being chased out of the revealed ring by some sort of sonic repeller Jolt was wielding as Jetstorm was showing the control panel to Optimus. It was obvious where the Fallen had damaged it: huge claw marks scored deep into the pewter-colored metal.

"Jeez, no way we can fix this," Glen said, laptop and camera out, taking photographs and uploading them to NESTNet.

Looking across the circle at that damage, Sam felt knowledge flare to life inside his head.

Optimus' head turned suddenly. As if Sam had taken a sharp breath that he'd heard, or something.

Quietly, the Prime crossed the expanse of the space bridge. "Sam?" he asked.

Sam looked up at his brother. Part of him was thinking this might be a really bad idea. But Optimus had mentioned that there were Autobots trapped on his planet, unable to escape the dying world into space...

"I think we can fix it," Sam said softly. "You and me."

Optimus blinked, taken aback. "Are you certain?"

Sam shook his head. "No. But I've got the manual and you've got the Matrix, and I _think_ that's all we would need. So the question is..." He looked up into blue, blue optics. "Do you think we should?"

* * *

><p>It was a... as humans would say, "breathtaking" possibility. To have the ability to easily transverse the great distance between Earth and Cybertron, to be able to liberate those of his people who remained trapped on their home world...<p>

And also to potentially open a door here on Earth for Decepticons to come through.

It was a decision Optimus could not make without the consent of his allies.

"Shit, if it was my world and my people, I'd do it in a heartbeat," Major Lennox said after having the possibility-and possible risk-explained to him.

"Indeed. But this is _your_ world, Major, and I will not bring any further danger down on it."

"Hell, we'd be getting more allies out of this, too," Master Sergeant Epps pointed out. "Seems like a pretty good trade for a 'maybe'."

"And the Decepticons don't know how to use the bridge?" Lennox asked Jetstorm.

The massive Autobot shrugged. "Old ones, Seekers... if any others of my kind awaken, they will know how to use the bridge."

"Can't we just take the keys out of the ignition when we're not using it?" Captain Graham inquired.

Optimus looked at his human brother. "Sam?"

"I think... I think there _is_ a control chip we should be able to take with us," Sam replied, brow furrowing as he accessed the Allspark's knowledge.

"Then I'm good with it," said Major Lennox, speaking for humanity.

"All right!" cheered Glen Whitmann. "Let's get this baby repaired!"

* * *

><p>In the end, it was as simple as sitting on Optimus' hand as the giant knelt before the damage, each of them touching the Matrix. Whispered thoughts were shared between them through the relic as Sam <em>showed<em> what needed to be done and Optimus _guided_ the Matrix's energy to repair the damage, creating whole parts as needed using interdimensional mathematical equations that would make Sam's professors at Princeton go cross-eyed.

And then it was done, as gleaming as new. Sam was lowered to stand on the brushed silver paneling inside the ring.

"So what now?" Simmons asked.

"This," Jetstorm replied, touching a single screen on the five-foot-tall control board.

A galaxy of characters appeared swirling above and around them, glowing gold against the star-lit sky. Familiar with this, Sam smiled.

"Wow," Glen breathed, looking up gape-mouthed, spinning around to look at all of the Cybertronian characters.

Sam blinked. "Wait," he asked. "You see them too?"

Lennox and Mikaela shifted their gaze to Sam instead. "...You mean you see this all the time?" Lennox asked, gesturing at the hovering glyphs.

Sam nodded. "Pretty much," he confirmed.

"Sam..." Mikaela said, and he wasn't sure just how to take her expression.

"Now this," Jetstorm said, reaching out and touching the glyph that meant Cybertron, "is being the fastest way home."

"No, wait-" Lennox said futilely even as Jetstorm hooked a claw through the quasi-holographic glyph. It flared to life in a golden spate of coordinates, and light crackled up all around them with a thunderous noise-

* * *

><p>With an awakening of light on long-disused screens, the space bridge whirred to life.<p>

Blue-white lightening flared and then vanished, leaving only a thunderclap of displaced air in its wake.

Inside the metal circle seven Cybertronians straightened cautiously, as did the twenty organic creatures scattered among them. In the ringing silence, they all looked up at the absolute blackness of a sky that held no sun and whose two inky moons could only be seen as blots on the field of unfamiliar stars.

Humans had come to Cybertron.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Visceral pretty-glowy-things music is "Hanging By A Moment" by Lifehouse. Stonehenge got picked as Ancient Architecture Likely To Conceal Cybertronian tech by simple virtue of it (or another stone circle, anyway) appearing in Beast Wars, and the fact that I've been there. In winter. It was cold. The space bridge in my head is much closer to the G1 version than the Animated version. Unfortunately I wasn't able to justify Epona Harper's wonderful commentary about Sam having Space Bridge Repair For Dummies into this chapter, nor the fact that I think the aforementioned volume was likely authored by a mech named Bulkhead. :) Editing for correct Britishness done by my Wonderful Husband who is, in fact, British.


	6. Just Breathe

**Summer Job: Just Breathe**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 31st January 2011

June 18th, 2010, GMT 0258. Cybertron.

The blackness seemed to stretch on forever, a void that rang in Glen's ears like the aftermath of an incredible concert. Stonehenge had been dark, but it had nothing on... here.

Gape-mouthed, he stared around him, at the faint glints of metal that revealed themselves as his eyes adjusted, at the softly glowing Autobot optics, at the alien stars so far above.

It was cool, he noticed absently, especially in comparison to the muggy English night they'd just left, but not as cold as might be expected on a sunless, drifting alien planet. Gravity, he noticed, was about the same as on Earth, which made sense. Cybertron was smaller but denser, metal to the core.

A faint "Wow..." drifted away into the alien air.

* * *

><p>"What the hell was that?" Lennox was yelling at Jetstorm somewhere across the way.<p>

Holy. Fuck.

Cybertron, Mikaela thought, turning around to look, eyes searching out Bumblebee's shadowed form. He stood stock-still, looking at his home world.

Somehow she didn't think any of the Autobots had ever expected to go back home.

"Bumblebee," she whispered.

He jolted, blue optics blinking, then crossed to her and Sam, kneeling down by them with a inquiring noise.

"You okay?" she asked, touching a cheek flange.

"Good," he responded with his mashup of voices, "weird but good. You can't ever go home again." He touched her in return, looking back and forth between her and Sam. "You okay, honey?"

"Peachy," she replied, then noticed the way Sam was looking at Major Lennox. "Sam?"

Lennox swayed a little on his feet.

"Sir?" she heard Captain Graham's voice through the darkness.

"Just... a little dizzy," the major replied.

"Sam?" Mikaela asked again, but was cut off as he placed a gentle hand over her mouth.

"Ratchet," Sam called, his voice carrying, almost seeming to echo, "what, exactly, is the atmospheric percentage of oxygen on Cybertron?"

There were ripples of shadow movements, humans freezing as the implication hit.

"It's a trace element only," Ratchet replied. "Less than one percent."

"If we can't get back to Earth in less than three minutes, then," Sam said too calmly, "you're going to have a bunch of dead humans on your hands."

_Now_ all the mechs froze.

Of course, Mikaela thought through a fast-rising panic. _They_ had no problems with Earth's atmosphere, why would they think humans might have any problems with Cybertron's?

"-Reverse it!" Ironhide was demanding.

"-I cannot!" Jetstorm was replying. "It requires time to reset-"

"Sam..."

His hand was back on her mouth, gaze boring into her through the darkness. "Don't talk."

* * *

><p>No!<p>

They couldn't die! He wouldn't let them! He'd lost too many already, friends and acquaintances and teammates-

Bumblebee had never really believed in the Unmaker, but he was beginning to wonder if the priests' stories were true, because suddenly it was seeming like his home world destroyed everything he loved. Even those beings that weren't part of it.

He had to focus.

What, exactly, did humans need to survive? Their lungs were adapted to breathe Earth's atmosphere, which was a dominant nitrogen-oxygen mix, with only traces of other elements, mostly argon, and a small percentage of random water molecules adding humidity.

Nitrogen Cybertron had in plenty. Oxygen... how to synthesize oxygen?

Processor working faster than it ever had before, Bumblebee reconfigured his calculations. Then reconfigured them again.

And again.

Again.

There had to be something that would work!

* * *

><p>This, Sam was sure, was a mistake Jetstorm was <em>never<em> going to make again. One way or another.

Looking around him, at human faces only half-seen in Cybertron's darkness, his gaze caught on Simmons' expression. While everyone else was varying degrees of panicky, the ex-Sector Seven agent was calmly looking up at the foreign stars, peaceful wonder writ large on his face.

Like he didn't even care he was going to die.

Seeing that, Sam suddenly felt like he understood Simmons better than he ever had before. It helped calm his own spreading panic. Somehow, he decided, it was going to be all right. Even if they died... well, he'd been dead before, and what was on the other side really wasn't that bad.

"Bumblebee," he said, using up a little of his precious air, "it's okay." The Autobot's-_his_ Autobot's-plating was warm to the touch, even here.

They had always been going to part ways sooner or later, either by the war or by Sam and Mikaela's human, and therefore much shorter, life expectancies.

This was... just a little bit sooner.

The Autobot looked at him. "No it's not," someone's voice said for him, and Bumblebee stood and dropped down into his car form, doors flicking wide in invitation.

The hiss of his aircon kicking on was loud in the sudden silence.

* * *

><p>_Insanity,_/ Ratchet snapped over the comm line Bumblebee had used to chirp schematics.

/_Are their lives worth less than ours?_/ Optimus asked, already folding into the shape of a Peterbilt.

Ratchet ignored the almost rhetorical question. /_Powering nuclear fission from our sparks is a short path to suicide!_/

/_Then we die together!_/ Ironhide retorted.

/_It will take the better part of two hours for the space bridge to be resetting,_/ Jetstorm said, watching the humans scramble for the promise of air within the Cybertronians. He rearranged himself into the Blackbird form he had taken, a mirror of his late twin's. A ladder folded down, allowing two humans-one of whom was Master Sergeant Epps-to climb into his cockpit. His canopy sealed with a hiss, the atmosphere within matching Earth's in a matter of seconds.

/_Our sparks won't last that long,_/ Ratchet knew, finishing transforming into his H2 altform even as he warned the others.

/_Better find an alternative quick, then,_/ Jolt said, snapping his doors shut on the heels of his passengers.

/_...I know someplace._/

* * *

><p>"Masks," Glen gasped from the front passenger seat. "We need breathing masks for here. Like from Avatar or something." He hugged his laptop bag to his chest, pale beneath his dark skin.<p>

"Scuba gear," Lieutenant Casey agreed, nearly as pale as Glen. "_Something._"

Sam leaned between the two front seats, looking steadily at the Camaro's dash. "Bumblebee-"

"That's what friends are for~" crooned Linda Ronstadt, obscurely proving what Sam had long suspected: his friend didn't actually use the airwaves for his sound clips. Bumblebee had a downloaded cultural lexicon second to none, and raided it for his speaking needs.

Still. Manufacturing oxygen. Sam had a pretty good idea of the kind of power that was taking. And even Cybertronians had limited resources for something like that. "'Bee, you can't-"

"The needs of the many," Leonard Nimoy's voice informed him, "outweigh the good of the few, or the one."

"Bumblebee..."

"Follow me, I've got the map!" another voice insisted.

Sam's phone rang. He pulled it out automatically, then stopped.

"Why," he asked, suspicious but resigned, "do I have four bars in another _galaxy_?"

The Autobot's only response was the classic Star Trek transporter chime.

Sam sighed and flipped the phone open.

"Ratchet knows a place with atmospheric control," Optimus' rich voice informed him.

"Sounds good by me," Sam replied.

"If it's still intact," Optimus cautioned.

"Great, fill me with confidence," Sam groused. A gentle chuckle was his reply, then the line went dead.

Glen stared at the phone, then dug his own out of his pocket, examining its screen for invisible signs of alien tampering. "Can you do that to mine too?" he asked Bumblebee.

Sam put his hand on the other man's phone. It was an Optimus; Glen had gotten it just for the name, which admittedly made Sam snicker too, and the hacker had already heavily modified it. "Later," he told Glen. "After we're not in danger of asphxyiation."

Mechanical sounds came from within Bumblebee's body, and the car's cabin gave a slight shudder. Looking out the window, Sam saw the other Autobots' tires folding up and away. Their exteriors changed slightly too, vehicle lines shifting into something smoother, unearthly.

Cybertronian altmodes.

"What the-" Lieutenant Casey started to ask.

"A metal planet," Glen didn't quite squeak in delight, his comment overlapping the lieutenant's, his eyes wide. "Magnetic repulsion!"

Hovering above the surface of the world, five cars and two bikes skimmed away as behind them an old, alien jet took to the sky.

* * *

><p>Cybertron wasn't completely dark, Mikaela decided. Here and there glowing crystals, mostly blue, broke through the surface, shedding faint light on the debris around them. Glen and Lieutenant Casey were practically plastered to the windows. So was Sam, she noticed, though his expression was very different.<p>

"Sam?" she asked as they passed rubble that spilled further into the darkness than she could see.

"Bumblebee," he said, quiet and sober, "where are we?"

For a minute, there was only the sound of the engine and the A/C, then Bumblebee's speakers reluctantly crackled to life. In the voice of a 1960s documentary, he said "...this iconic figure..."

Sam lost what little color the blue lights of Cybertron allowed him. "Iacon?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"Iacon?" Mikaela asked him.

"What's Iacon?" Casey echoed her, his voice hushed in the silence.

Sam swallowed. He looked ill, and Mikaela really hoped he wouldn't need an airsickness bag, because she didn't think Bumblebee came with any. "The capital city," he replied. "Of the entire _planet_. Shining Iacon..." His voice trailed off. "God," he whispered almost to himself, head in his hands, fingers supporting his temple, "I know what it should look like and I've never been here before. Fucked-up Cube deja vu."

Mikaela rubbed his back slowly, carefully.

"You should have seen it," he said after a minute, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed, no longer looking out the windows. "It was so beautiful. All silver and gold and crystal... spires and towers reaching to the sky, mechs everywhere going about their business, all colors..."

"Must've made ancient Rome look like a trailer park," Casey remarked.

Sam laughed hollowly. "You have no idea."

* * *

><p>"So tell me," Seymour invited eventually, "why on a metal planet everything looks soft and round."<p>

Something very like a sigh sounded through the Hummer's speakers. "Acid rain," Ratchet replied.

"Bit stronger than the stuff back home?"

"You have no idea."

A few minutes of silence, then Ratchet spoke again. "You would never believe it, Agent Simmons, but this was once a beautiful world, and we were a great, united people."

* * *

><p>It had been a very long time since Optimus had last set foot on his own world.<p>

He was now remembering why so many of them had left.

Beyond the need to find the Allspark before Megatron and his Decepticons did, there was the simple fact that their world had been dying, initially from the damage the war had done to Cybertron, and then finally from the lack of its life-giving force.

_I did this._ It was a simple statement of fact: he had had to choose from a very short list of options. Doom his people, his planet... or the universe.

It had been an easy decision. He _knew_ it had been the right one.

It just didn't always _feel_ like it.

* * *

><p>_He's guilt-tripping again,_/ Ironhide commed Ratchet.

/_Perfect,_/ the medic responded, his tone biting. /_As if I didn't have enough to worry about._/

* * *

><p>"Holy Mary, mother of God. Look at that," Will Lennox breathed from inside Ironhide, watching wide-eyed as a bridge literally <em>unfolded<em> beneath them as the Cybertronians drove across it, silvery metal stretching out into the darkness across a chasm so deep he couldn't see the bottom. "No wonder you guys think our world's primitive."

Ironhide snorted. "Not primitive. Much," he amended himself. "Organic worlds are built different than mechanical ones."

"You can say that again." Sarah would _never_ believe this.

On the other hand, given that _if_ they got back and he was allowed to tell her, the story would involve his nearly running out of air on an alien planet... maybe Will would just skip this particular story. He liked his balls where they were.

* * *

><p>The outside of the structure looked melted half to slag. But above the door, and more importantly the access pad, there was an overhang that hadn't existed the last time Ratchet had visited this place, hundreds of vorns ago. It was half-slagged too, but seemed to have done its job in keeping the acid rain from melting the pad.<p>

"Deep breaths," he instructed the human soldiers in him. "You need to get out because I need to transform to get us inside." If the door still functioned. If his access codes still worked.

If the climate controls inside were still viable.

The men obeyed and each took a couple of deep breaths, then scrambled out when Ratchet opened his doors. He waited only as long as it took them to get clear before transforming and stepping toward the access panel. A cable extended from his wrist and plugged in; hoping, he spoke his password.

* * *

><p>"...I take it Ratchet knows this guy pretty well?" Sam asked his car.<p>

"Why, what'd he say?" Lieutenant Casey asked.

"Roughly? 'It's me. Open up, you hack'," Sam translated.

* * *

><p>The doors to the lab slid almost silently open. Ratchet went through first, transmitting codes for lighting in human-visible spectra. The glow panels flickered slowly on, then something popped and the place fell into darkness. Growling, he strode forward and hit the room's rear wall.<p>

The lights flared back to life.

The NEST soldiers crept cautiously in after him, followed by a sextet of vehicles and one jet that taxied into the room. The moment the door sealed behind them, Ratchet released the codes he'd been holding in stock, changing the atmospheric composition of the lab to something more like Earth's.

It seemed Wheeljack's store of compressed elements was fortunately still intact. It took less than thirty seconds of watching the NEST team's hair blow about their faces before they were taking tentative breaths of the new air.

Watching their grins, directed at one another and him, Ratchet felt one small weight lift off his shoulder servos.

They could keep the humans alive. At least for now.

The others poured out of Optimus and Ironhide, climbing out of Bumblebee and Jolt and jumping down from Jetstorm, allowing the Autobots to stretch themselves out as they returned to their root modes.

"So, like, where are we?" Glen Whitmann asked, still clutching his laptop, spinning in a circle to look all around the room that was surely gigantic from his perspective.

"Lab of a friend of Ratchet's," Ironhide replied. "His name was Wheeljack."

"It still may be," Ratchet retorted. Ironhide shrugged.

Sam stood near one of the stacks of chemical tanks that lined the walls. His head was tilted to one side, reading the Cybertronian labeling as Ratchet watched.

Then the boy looked at the next.

And the next.

Eyes wide, he backed up so rapidly that he fell over his own feet. "Ratchet," he said, his voice just a shade off of outright panic, "what the hell did this Wheeljack guy _do_?" Half of the humans in the room were staring at Sam.

Ratchet snorted. "Before the war? He was a pyrotechnician."

"So he did fireworks," Glen said. "Big deal."

"Yeah, fireworks," Agent Simmons agreed, as calm as Sam was not. "Big fireworks. On a planet whose atmosphere is made up of...?" He raised a brow at Ratchet.

"Ninety-eight percent noble gases," Ratchet replied, knowing well where the agent was leading.

"Imagine that," Simmons said. He glared at the men around him. "Do the math."

"Right," said Major Lennox a moment later, his voice just a shade shaken. "Nobody touch _anything_."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Thanks to OkamiMyrrhibis for beta'ing for me. And congrats to a biiiig portion of my commenters on LJ for deducing what evil, nasty thing I was planning... and had been planning for long before the movie Avatar came out. ^_^ In addition to that obvious reference, there's also a buried one in this chapter to the movie Goonies. And as to what's in those canisters that has Sam panicking... there's a website called Things I Won't Work With. Google it. Read some of the articles. Contemplate that the Cube dumped a chemistry module into Sam's head to complement the physics one that appears in the movie. Yeah. No touchie things in 'Jack's lab.


	7. Our People

**Summer Job: Our People**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 28th May 2011

June 18th, 2010, GMT 0317. Cybertron.

With a weary sigh, Ironhide dropped to the ground and absently stretched a few cables, cricking his neck one way and then the other. His spark ached mildly; not a surprise given the stress they'd all just subjected them to. And would need to subject them to again.

It had been such a fragging long time since they'd had to consider natives out of their depth. Looking at the humans, he was reminded of Annabelle capturing a tadpole in the creek that ran through the Lennox's property and not understanding why it died once out of water.

It hadn't been that long, objectively speaking, since that metallivorous worm infested planet where Cybertronians had encountered the ship called Ghost 1. It hadn't been more than a few decades, Earth time, since Starscream had destroyed humanity's first venture beyond the system of their birth. It hadn't been long at all since the Autobots' first contact with the species who were now their closest allies.

And that day it hadn't taken long to learn how easily humans died.

But they were a tenacious species. There were so many of them, and they grew and learned so fast. They were brave and bold, and if, yes, they were the violent and primitive species of Ironhide's initial assessment, they were also, many of them, the steadfast companions of whom a soldier could ask no better.

(And if Optimus had once or twice made pointed comments about their own species' violent tendencies given their war, well, Ironhide would never _admit_ to taking the remarks to spark.)

"You okay, Ironhide?" Lennox asked.

He looked down at the man. Small and soft, but so bright, with a true warrior's spark. He would have been proud to command Lennox, had they been of the same species. As it was, he had no problems following the other's lead in battle, more confident in the human to know and strategize where their species best complemented each other's skills. "Just feeling old," Ironhide answered.

The human nodded, eyes glancing around the lab, automatically checking the status of his men, the Autobots, the chemical tanks at the walls. "Going home again like this sucks," he said, surprising Ironhide with his perceptiveness.

"...Yes."

Because Lennox, too, had seen his share of homes abandoned and destroyed by war.

* * *

><p>The wall unit was antiquated, dilapidated, and scored by gouges and carbonization marks that spoke of a violent history. But it wasn't acid-slagged, so Arcee extended a hand, transforming her digits to plug in to the terminal. She was expecting to find old data files, scientific notes, maybe old downloads of news or holo messages if Ratchet's friend had been the type. The detritus of a dead world and a dying culture.<p>

She was not expecting an encrypted message.

"Ratchet," she said, half turning as she processed the file. He raised an optic ridge at her. "There's a message on this terminal for you."

"Old news," he dismissed.

"No," she told him. "It's dated _after_ you left the planet."

That got her a stare. The medic didn't quite hustle across the room, but it was close. Unplugging and wheeling back, Arcee watched Ratchet's face. He was too controlled for her to read him easily, but when he was through downloading and decrypting, there was definitely shock in his posture as he turned back to the Prime.

"Optimus," Ratchet said, and his voice was rough, "there are survivors in the catacombs."

* * *

><p>"Catacombs," Agent Simmons. His voice, as was his wont, held skepticism and inquiry in equal measure.<p>

The tone got him a snort from Ironhide as the black mech rolled back to his feet. "Our planet is riddled with them. Layers and layers."

"Cybertron is not like Earth," Optimus explained for the humans' benefit. "Your world is dense and rocky, with a molten core. Ours is... honeycombed," he said, finding a suitable analogy.

"Legends say all the way to the center," Ratchet supplemented, still plugged in to the terminal. Nearly subsonic static gave away the fact that he was continuing to download and process whatever information Wheeljack had left available to him. "However, no one has gone below certain levels and returned to tell the tale."

"Not in living memory," Jetstorm agreed.

"So the turtles go all the way down," Simmons said. This time his voice was both thoughtful and wondering. It was interesting, Optimus thought, how honesty and a little information worked miracles in changing the man's attitude.

"Oh," Sam said, very softly. Something about the way he said it caught Optimus' attention. As he watched, Sam's gaze flickered back and forth, focusing into the mid-distance as he accessed the knowledge of the Allspark.

Even as Optimus observed his human brother, though, Ratchet unplugged from the wall unit and turned to face them. "We can't leave them," he said. On the surface it sounded like a statement of fact, but Optimus had known Ratchet for a very long time-there was pleading in his words as well.

"Of course not," Optimus agreed. "They are our kinfolk, and we must rescue them if at all possible."

"How many mechs we talking, here?" Epps asked.

Optimus inclined his head at his Chief Medical Officer.

"Eighteen," Ratchet said.

A dozen humans mouthed the number. It took only seconds before their eyes lit up, and Optimus could understand their thought processes quite clearly: the rescues would triple the number of Autobots on Earth.

Ratchet clearly understood this train of thought as well. "It may be some time," he said aloud, "before they're in any condition to move or fight. Wheeljack's notes indicate they all went into voluntary stasis... due to lack of energon."

That tempered human enthusiasm somewhat. Even not having seen it, NEST knew that energon was the lifeblood of Cybertronians. They could, and had had to, go for some time without it. Passive solar energy from Earth's yellow dwarf sun was enough for them to continue on, but for their species to continue to survive, let alone thrive, a source for the precious plasma would need to be found within the next few centuries.

"Logistics," Captain Graham said, raising a point. "Assuming you're able to find all these Autobots, how are we transporting them back to the Space Bridge?"

/_Got a flatbed in your subspace?_/ Ironhide teased in Cybertronian.

Optimus raised an optical ridge at him. /_As a matter of fact, I do,_/ he replied. To the humans, he said, "Leave that to us."

* * *

><p>"Ha!" Jetstorm told Optimus. "I will be staying here, thank you and please." He seated himself in a human-clear area of the lab with his arms crossed, a gesture of defiance. "You will not be getting me to go into those wretched catacombs." To himself, he kept the shivering thought of walls closing in on him, leaving him no room to maneuver, to fly, to win his way free to the sky and stars. It was best not to give such weaknesses away, not even to allies or Primes.<p>

Perhaps, he admitted, he had been too long alone in the ice.

"Of course, my friend," Optimus replied, cutting off whatever protests or insults his Autobots had been preparing to make. "It would be a tight fit," he explained to the others, "and we need someone here to protect the humans if anything goes wrong."

"No environmental controls down there, huh?" Agent Simmons, a bright mammal if ever Jetstorm had seen one, asked.

Optimus nodded gravely. "And we will all need to be free to transform to free the others from their stasis pods."

Captain Graham checked his time-keeping unit. "One hour, thirteen minutes to sunrise at Stonehenge," he reported to his commanding officer.

Major Lennox nodded. "Think we can make it, big guy?" he asked Optimus.

"It will be tight," the leader acknowledged, "but I think we can."

"Then godspeed," the Major wished him. Optimus nodded once more, then he and the others transformed and rolled for the inner door. Its airlock sealed behind them, and they were gone, leaving Jetstorm alone with the humans.

He regarded them for a moment. "You are knowing that wishing him 'godspeed' is redundant, yes?"

"What'dya mean?"

"Well," Jetfire said, settling into the mode of a storyteller, "organic lifebeings such as yourselves, you tend to worship your sun, yes? Even later in the development of your civilizations, your gods are 'up'?" he asked with a gesture at the ceiling.

"Yeah, God in Heaven," Lieutenant Casey agreed, nodding.

"For us, though, we always _knew_ what created us."

"The Allspark Cube," Major Lennox said.

Jetstorm shook his head. "The Allspark, yes... but also Cybertron. We would not be the same beings if it were not for our world."

"Kind of like how, if your mom married someone different, would you still be the same you?" Mikaela Banes asked.

He considered the question for a moment. "Yes, like that, I think."

"So, what, your god is down?" Master Sergeant Epps asked, gesturing at the floor.

Jetstorm nodded. "The Allspark... our 'father,' perhaps, as you call such things? And Cybertron, who 'birthed' us, would be our 'mother.' We worshipped our world as I think your kind maybe once did?"

"So just Cybertron, then?" Agent Simmons' eyes were sharp as he caught what Jetfire wasn't saying yet. "Just the planet, not as a separate god?"

"No, we had a name for it. Primus, the god within our world. The first source of life."

"Primus," Samuel Witwicky said quietly, but with the weight of a Prime. "Like Optimus Prime?"

"Like all the Primes," Jetstorm agreed. "The first among us, the best. The ones closest to our world, our god... our creators. The guardians and... stewards?" he asked, questioning his word choice. Deciding it was the right one, he nodded. "Yes, stewards of our people."

* * *

><p>He came online, registering an anomalous change in one area of his demense. Different chemicals flowed within the lab now. Highly caustic ones, he noted. Had Wheeljack come out of stasis and decided to run another simulation? There was indeed a lifesign within the lab...<p>

His consciousness fully booted up, optics at their maximum aperture as he realized the passive ping from the lifeform was no Autobot. Old old signal. Decepticon!

Worse, he saw as he reached out with his senses and accessed the laboratory's more involved monitoring devices, with the Decepticon were a number of undoubtedly dangerous and quite probably metallivorous organic life signatures.

His charge was to guard those sleeping below until the day they either all of them died in stasis, or the Allspark was returned to Cybertron and they could all wake and live again.

Silently, Red Alert moved for the first time in aeons, integrating himself into the defense systems of Wheeljack's lab, melting into the walls as he became part of them and passed through.

* * *

><p>"Stewards, huh."<p>

Jetstorm leaned closer down to Simmons. "Guides, yes. But also protectors. It is why," he said, and his glance slid sideways to lay heavily on Sam, "they were given powers others had not."

Sam swallowed. "So Primes protect their people?"

Jetstorm nodded. "It is their foremost drive and duty. It is why Optimus Prime fights himself in every battle he can... unlike your human leaders, who send others to fight for them. A Prime, it was said, inspires the best by being the best."

"Ha," Sam said faintly, caught up in the memory of sunlight and pine and earth. Echoes of a raging battle, three-on-one. The clang and crash and rip of metal. Choked death that sounded like nothing human could.

When, he wondered, had Optimus begun to count him as "his people"?

_...Run, boy..._

_...He died for me..._

_...Thank you, for saving my life..._

And when, Sam wondered, had he begun counting the Autobots as the same? Optimus had died protecting Sam, a human. Sam had died protecting Optimus, a mechanoid.

It was like, he realized, forgetting to breathe for a moment, they'd each adopted one another's species. As far as the living Primes, all two of them, were concerned, humans and Cybertronians were worth the same. In some weird cosmic way, they were now effectively the same species, subject to the same protections.

Sam looked up at Jetstorm, opening his mouth to say something either stupid or profound, and had only an instant to register white plasma fire taking out the old ex-Decepticon.

* * *

><p>Curious, Red Alert noted, half unfolding himself from the wall. No sooner had he fired and crippled the ancient Decepticon than the non-reactive tritanium metal of the floor had ripped up, curling as a shield over the organics. Were they telekinetic? There had never been a recorded incidence of that particular ability in an organic species. If they were, as this seemed to indicate, he would have to be more cautious in neutralizing their threat. Perceptor would, of course, chide him for not taking more scientific interest in the phenomena; Red Alert's priority, however, was seeing that the scientist survived to issue that mild scold.<p>

* * *

><p>"What the-"<p>

"We're on your side!" Will shouted around the blast shield Sam had set up for them. He'd managed to glimpse the red Autobot symbol on the Cybertronian's chest in the bare instant he'd had. "We're with the Autobots!"

A considering silence met this, then a single shot fired, plasma heat warming the metal, washing around its edges. Testing their shelter's tolerances.

"I don't think he got the language pack," Bobby remarked drily.

"Fuck," Will swore. Mikaela's eyes were fast on Jetstorm, he noticed, her expression betraying her need to get to him, to fix him. But she was smart enough not to run out and make herself a target.

Mechanical steps weren't soft, but they shook the ground a lot less on Cybertron than they did on Earth. The mech was heading for them.

"I don't want to take down an ally," Will said, hating this position, "but if it's between us and him..."

"Got any bright ideas, kid?" Simmons asked Sam.

Their resident telekinetic and Prime looked around at all of them. "Maybe," he said, and the metal under his feet shifted, breaking apart into a small platform that rose, carrying him upward.

"Sam-" said Mikaela, but he only glanced briefly back at her, saying nothing.

* * *

><p>This was not going to work. This was not going to work.<p>

This HAD to work.

Because otherwise... He remembered telling his parents to run and not to stop and hide because the Decepticons would find them if they did. And they were all on Cybertron now, where there was no place to run and hide, not if they wanted to breathe.

So this had to work.

Because Sam would not allow it not to.

He rose above the surface of his wave-shelter, assessing the silver-red Cybertronian before himself. A little taller than Ironhide or Ratchet, but spindly where they were heavy-built. One hand was already a light gun. The other transformed as Sam appeared, drawing a bead on him.

This had to work.

Sam opened his mouth.

* * *

><p>Humans could not speak Cybertronian. Could not even understand it without mechanical intervention. This was a base physical law, irrefutable due to simple biology.<p>

Which was why Captain Alexander Graham, formerly of the Special Air Service and currently of NEST, stood gape-jawed, weapon slack at his side, looking up at the twenty-year-old college student who...

Well, his voice didn't sound quite like Optimus Prime's. Sam was of an entirely different register, a tenor in fact to Optimus' bass. But the sounds were right, as was the way he seemed to be saying more than just words, offering more than mere communication. His voice sounded through the fabric of the world, ringing through reality like a church bell through stone walls.

It was like those few words Optimus had said months ago to Jetstorm at the bottom of the world.

And then it stopped. Sam floated back down. He was white and Graham could see where he was barely repressing shudders. He opened his mouth to speak, then caught himself, pain crossing his face. His girlfriend was at his side in a flash. But Sam caught Major Lennox's eyes and gestured once, waving them all free of the shelter.

As Sam and Mikaela went one way, in the direction of Jetstorm, Lennox and Graham and the rest went the other.

On the other side of their meager shelter the Autobot knelt, optics staring fast at the retreating human Prime. His hands were on the ground, and he made no struggle at all as, Lilliput-like, they bound their attacking Gulliver.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> As Epona Harper pointed out to me, oxygen is a very corrosive as well as volatile chemical. Red is right to be worried about high levels of it in Wheeljack's lab. For that matter, water is the universal solvent and we both bathe in it and _drink_ it. And then there's how much alcohol (another solvent) humans ingest... We are, in short, potentially very dangerous creatures, evolved to survive a dangerous planet.


	8. The Spaces Between Us All

**Summer Job: The Spaces Between Us All**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 1st June 2011

June 18th, 2010, GMT 0346. Cybertron.

It had been a long time since Ratchet had been in the catacombs. Some areas, sheltered by the geography of the underground labyrinth, seemed almost untouched. Others were clearly spillways for the acid rain, worn smooth by time. Two were impassable, and their rescue team had to reroute.

He couldn't keep his mind from that list of names Wheeljack had left for him. Eighteen survivors! And one of his former apprentices among them. Not that Jolt's landing on Earth hadn't been boon and miracle enough, but Ratchet had always had a weak point in his plating for First Aid. If inebriated enough (torture, as the Decepticons had discovered to their regret, was ineffective at interrogating Ratchet), he would admit that the younger mech's pure faith sometimes humbled him.

(And, he thought, he couldn't wait to see what First Aid and Mikaela would make of one another's styles.)

The final entrance to the secure storage area Wheeljack had designated as the stasis chamber involved a long, long spiral ramp that corkscrewed down into the depths of the planet.

/_Race you,_/ Ratchet told Ironhide, feeling almost giddy for the first time in a very long time.

/_Are you out of your processor?_/ Ironhide demanded. /_You have no idea if it's still structurally sound._/

Ironhide, like Ratchet, had been made to deal with stresses that would drive most other mechs insane. That didn't mean he was above being a worrywart and a killjoy.

Bumblebee, engine revving, blew them a raspberry and leapt onto the ramp, disappearing into the darkness beyond the first curve, his aft end slinging around into a tight drift that had been _exactly_ how Wheeljack always preferred to take the ramp.

The rest of them stared after him for a moment, then Optimus gave what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "'Where angels fear to tread'," he said in English.

A ping sounded through all their comms. /_All clear,_/ Bumblebee sent.

Had he been in root form, Ratchet would have grinned. /_Race you,_/ he repeated to Ironhide, and jumped onto the ramp, not waiting to see if the weapons specialist followed or not.

Optimus' laughter, and his own, carried Ratchet all the way to the bottom.

* * *

><p>This was... not possible.<p>

Yet somehow it was.

Red Alert kept his optics fast on the organic who had declared (proven?) himself to be a Prime. He ignored all the others; they were irrelevant until he either figured out this conundrum or broke himself trying.

There were no more Primes, save for Optimus Prime, who Red Alert knew was called that only as a courtesy. Before he had offered his allegiance to their faction, he had hacked into the Autobots' cloud database and found that information. That Optimus' appellation was specious was not a secret, but not something widely discussed either. Those who followed him followed his vision and integrity rather than a title that had been dead longer than most of them had been functioning.

Red Alert's first task as an Autobot had been to fix the holes that had let him into their data. It had only gotten more challenging from there.

But this... this was beyond any challenge offered to him before. He knew what Prowl's cool logic would have had the tactician declare: that as nothing unreal exists, given the fact that the organic had used the dimension-altering speech of the Primes, he was obviously a Prime. End of discussion.

Except that this Prime was an _organic_. It was not only impossible, it was unthinkable!

...There were traces of Allspark radiation lingering around the maybe-Prime.

Processors whirling, Red Alert continued to stare.

* * *

><p>He was being stared at.<p>

This was exactly what Sam didn't want. Being caught somewhere between human and Autobot he could deal with. Being a Prime, being a telekinetic... given a little time and space to deal with the revelations, he thought he'd adapted quite well. He was pulling his own weight with NEST. Go team, go Witwicky Prime or whatever.

But being stared at like this, like he was some kind of _freak_...

He repressed another shiver and the urge to retch. He was in some kind of shock, he knew, and he ached all over. His throat felt scraped raw, and a corner of his mind would have killed for a blanket and a strawberry milkshake, but at least those were all things whose sources he knew and whose ends he could eventually negotiate. There were prices that got paid when you pushed further than you really should. Cuts, bruises, and a mild concussion. A broken hand and second-degree burns.

Full body shock and laryngitis seemed a mild price to pay for stopping the Autobot-whose name Sam still didn't know-from slaughtering NEST.

Behind him, muttered cursing accompanied Mikaela's field repairs of Jetstorm. He would survive; Sam knew that as sure as his own name. If Jetstorm's injuries had been truly life-threatening, Mikaela's words and tone would be very, very different.

He suffered another round of shuddering before managing to pull his body back under his control, and looked up at blue optics that had never strayed from him.

The mech didn't know English. No one else knew Cybertronian. And Sam's throat was totally burnt out.

They were at an impasse until Optimus returned.

Sam swallowed, grimacing at the pain, and wished his brother Prime would hurry up already.

* * *

><p>The storage unit opened to Ratchet's same code (which in these less dire circumstances made half their party snigger; only Arcee and Optimus were exempt, and even then Ratchet suspected the Prime of secret, silent laughter). Only the very lowest level of lighting came on as they entered the room; humans would be blind. Most of the energy stored in the batteries, Ratchet noted with approval, was going to maintain the statis pods.<p>

They were, at their most concise, silicon cocoons that enclosed the base Cybertronian form the humans referred to as "cometary landing form." To Cybertronians, it was as natural a shape as the humans folding themselves up into fetal or cannonball position. The compact form took less space, conserved energy, and frequently induced calm from its relative imperviousness. Ratchet had seen more than a few mechs and femmes pulled out of the remains of a battlefield who had survived their injuries due only to the instinct to curl up in that most basic, protective form.

There were no designations to the individual pods, but having worked on almost all of them either before or during the war, Ratchet could identify most of them. Others could name a few.

/_All of them?_/ Optimus whispered in shock, starting at the five forms laid next to each other.

/_All five,_/ Ratchet confirmed. It was surely a miracle that First Aid's entire clade had survived. While gestalt-capable mechs could switch out with others who matched their specs, many of them formed teams with tight bonds, and preferred those partners above all others of their type. In this, First Aid had been entirely conventional.

Arcee stood next to another curled figure, staring with all four of her optics as though she couldn't believe their input. /_Transmutate?_/ she whispered, reaching out but not quite daring to touch the still form.

Only Jolt seemed somewhat disappointed as he looked around at their sleeping brethren. Ratchet raised an optic ridge at him. Caught out, the younger medic deflated somewhat and sighed. /_I was hoping Sunstreaker might be here,_/ he confessed.

The thought of Sideswipe's missing twin caught them all aback for a moment, then Optimus stepped forward, laying a hand on Jolt's shoulder. /_We may not have found him today,_/ he said kindly, /_but this may be merely the first of many such happy discoveries. Let us not give up hope for Sunstreaker just yet, my friend._/

/_Very touching._/ Ironhide mimed wiping a tear away from the corner of his optic. /_But if we could get on with it, we're on a schedule here._/

/_So we are._/ Stepping back, Optimus unfolded a silver-white trailer flatbed from his subspace. A low railing wrapped around its edges.

/_Primus, how long have you been carrying this around?_/ Ironhide demanded. He poked at the side of the trailer. /_It's still got its maker's marks!_/

/_Too long,_/ Optimus replied. /_Let's get them loaded up._/

* * *

><p>It seemed like forever, but probably wasn't quite that long, before the Autobots returned. Seymour had spent most of the time studying NEST's captive. In that time he had come to some conclusions.<p>

One, the mech was nothing like the Ice Man. Megatron had been rage and fury; this mech was cool, calm, and entirely deliberate.

Two, he was wickedly intelligent and Seymour was going to _enjoy_ debating with him once the mech got some language downloads.

Three, whatever Witwicky had told him had thrown the 'Bot for a total loop and he was now at an utter loss for how to proceed.

Seymour grinned. He _really_ liked Witwicky's style.

His contemplation of the prisoner was interrupted by the irising open of the lab's inner door. The Prime drove through first, pulling a silvery flatbed, as tire-less as the 'Bots themselves currently, full of silvery lumps. Behind him was Ironhide, with three more precariously balanced in the bed of his truck form, and finally...

He blinked.

Okay, when had Arcee ever combined her bodies before? Because the femme was definitely the one Seymour knew, but larger, with elegant stripings of blue and pink and two wheels on the ground instead of one. In her arms she carried a final comet form with a tenderness that was almost out of character for her.

The rest of the Cybertronians brought up the rear. Most of them, predictably, transformed the moment they saw the situation. It took Prime a moment to disarticulate himself from the trailer, and Ironhide, obviously, couldn't switch without upsetting his cargo, but the rest stared and then started asking questions.

The kneeling, captive mech finally looked away from Witwicky and stared up at Optimus Prime. Seymour was familiar enough with Autobot body language to read his posture as pleading.

"Red Alert?" the Cybertronian leader asked, stepping forward. Behind him Ratchet beelined for Jetstorm.

* * *

><p>"Fragging paranoid-" Ratchet muttered to himself, inspecting the damage. At least, he noted, Red had aimed to disable (presumably so as to allow later interrogation) and not to kill. "Good work," he told Mikaela, going for the damage she hadn't gotten to yet. He nodded Jolt over to Jetstorm's other side so all three of them could work at once without getting into each other's areas.<p>

"Thanks." She looked over her shoulder at Red Alert. "So who's he?"

"Security director for Altihex. Back when there was an Altihex. Looks like Wheeljack managed to rope him into-or Red Alert insisted himself on-guarding the lab and protoforms." Ratchet grunted, transforming a hand into a welder. "Wish he'd thought to mention that in his message."

"You got everybody down there?"

"Every last one accounted for, praise Primus."

* * *

><p>_Red Alert,_/ Optimus repeated in their own language, stooping to kneel beside the mech. He noted with approval that NEST's new filament lines were indeed capable of restraining a mech, though to be fair it looked like Red hadn't even struggled. /_What happened?_/

/_He..._/ The blue optics looking into Optimus' were those of a sparkling, confused and trying to make sense of the world.

/_Tell me,_/ Optimus prompted.

/_He said he was a Prime. In the language of the Primes! He told me to stop, and to stay, so I did._/ Optimus nodded. He doubted Red Alert had moved so much as a micron since Sam had given him those orders. He shot a quick glance at his human brother, who met his gaze evenly.

/_Go on._/

/_And he said you were a Prime. A real one, I mean._/

At that, Optimus smiled. /_Yes, Red Alert, I am. It's one of the many things we've learned on Earth. Will you come there with us?_/

/_How?_/ Red blinked and seemed to notice the other Autobots for the first time. /_How are you even all _here_?_/ he demanded.

/_We've found out how to operate the space bridges,_/ Optimus told the security mech, and watched as his optics widened.

* * *

><p>"So, you got 'em all?" Will asked Ironhide.<p>

"Yep," the black truck said.

"Good. Where the hell did that trailer come from?"

"It was in the storage area with them. Looks like Wheeljack thought ahead. Good thing too."

"And Arcee's cuddling that protoform why...?" Will prompted.

Ironhide made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "It's her sister."

"Sister? Like Skids and Mudflap type siblings?"

"Much less annoying."

"Thank God." Will did not want to imagine another pair of overpowered robots possessing the particular immaturity of that duo running amok on Earth. He looked at Optimus as the leader mech looked at him and silently indicated Red Alert's bonds. Will gave a nod, then a sharp whistle, catching the attention of his men. He jerked his chin toward the captive mech and, interpreting his orders correctly, NEST descended on the Autobot to free him just as neatly as they had to truss him. Optimus stood and stepped back to let them work. Red Alert just watched, still not moving a metal muscle.

Ratchet and Jolt were taking care of Jetstorm... who would hopefully be awake enough to transport himself back to the space bridge, because Will really didn't see how they could haul him there in addition to the protoform pods. Arcee was carrying her sister. That left...

Bumblebee, who unsurprisingly was hovering over Sam. The yellow mech spat static at Ratchet, who paused in his repairs to look over at the human, then pulled a blanket out of somewhere and handed it to Mikaela, gesturing her over to her boyfriend. The mechanic wiped her hands on her jeans, accepted the bundle, and obeyed.

Watching her and Bumblebee fuss over Sam (nothing Will could do for him right now, though the minute they all got back to Diego Garcia Sam was getting taken to the infirmary), Will paused. There was something...

Bumblebee's touches were too gentle. Not cautious, like the rest of the Autobots around humans, but... tender? Something like that. And something in Sam's face as he looked up at his guardian mech, and something in Mikaela's posture...

The pieces clicked together in Will's mind with a suddenness that left him blanching.

How the hell was that even possible? Two of them were human, and one of them... for God's sake, Bumblebee was a Camaro! The size difference was all wrong, to say nothing of flesh as opposed to metal, and Will knew for a solid fact that the Autobots didn't even _have_ human-equatable equipment-

_Put it out of your mind,_ he told himself, forcing himself to look away. _It's none of your business. Bring it up with them individually later. Focus now on getting everyone safely home._

Sam and Mikaela and Bumblebee was a problem that could keep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This takes a little inspiration from Dwimordene's work, tainry's writing, and undoubtedly the subconscious influence of many other fine storytellers in our shared fandom. And, yes, for those who caught it, Transmutate being Arcee's younger sister is indeed a voice actor in-joke. And there is indeed a reason Ironhide is lying to Lennox about where the trailer came from; subspace technology is extremely dangerous and all the Autobots are being very good at not letting onto the humans that it exists. Thank you to the many people who gave me suggestions, both here on LJ and in private conversations, for who should be rescued. I will give out a full list in the next (final) chapter of this story...


	9. There And Back Again

**Summer Job: There And Back Again**  
>by K. Stonham<br>first released 6th June 2011

June 18th, 2010, GMT 0417. Cybertron.

"Okay," said Bobby. "So how we gonna work this?"

"Well," Ratchet offered, "there's no way Jetstorm's coming out of this without more R&R. Repair and reboot," he clarified.

"And no way we can carry him _and_ the protoforms _and_ the humans," Arcee agreed.

"Well, damn." Bobby said. Thought for a moment, looked up at the bot with a flame job and asked, "Can you teleport us to the bridge?"

"From within Wheeljack's lab?" Optimus shook his head. "I would not dare risk it, for the same reasons I could not risk it in the catacombs."

"Though the danger here would be, I think, far more explosive," Jolt agreed.

"Pfeh," Ironhide grumbled. "Weaklings, not able to survive a simple structure collapse."

Arcee raised a wheeled foot and none-too-gently kicked the Topkick.

"Not the humans," Ironhide said. "The rest of you."

Optimus coughed. "Teleporting from outside would be possible," he said.

"Right. We'll go with that," Bobby concluded with a glance at Will Lennox, who gave him a semi-distracted nod.

* * *

><p>Mikaela glared at her boys. "For the record," she told them, "I am not happy with both of you losing your voices at the same time."<p>

* * *

><p>Seymour looked at Lennox, who was looking kind of shocked and trying very hard not to steal glances at Buttercup and his two kids. Seymour smirked. Took the military muscle long enough to twig. Unable to resist, he wandered over to the man. "Finally got a clue, Major?" he asked.<p>

Lennox glanced at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, the ever-so-slightly 'alternative lifestyle' that's going on over there," Seymour answered with a head nod in the direction of the little threesome.

Lennox scowled. "It's not our business, so get back to work."

What work, Seymour wanted to ask but didn't. "If it makes you feel better, my sources tell me that 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' will be repealed in the next year or two."

"It's not... our... business!" Lennox growled.

Seymour smirked and tried a different needling tack. "Didn't expect you to turn out to be a speciesist, Lennox."

"First, I'm not. Second, as I've said at least twice, it's none of our business what consenting adults and-"

"Consenting NBE's do in the privacy of their garages?"

The Major glared. "Is breaking people's brains one of your sick hobbies? And third, even if it was my business... I'm just having difficulty wrapping my mind around the idea," he admitted.

Ohh, the voice of inexperience was so fun to taunt. "All I can say," Seymour advised, "is don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

Lennox stared at him. "You didn't. Oh, hell, you did!"

Seymour let his smug expression speak volumes. "I did say I was in love, didn't I? If you're curious about the mechanics, I'm sure she-"

Lennox looked away, visibly forced himself to recover. "This is payback," he demanded in a whisper, looking back at Seymour, "for me shoving my gun in your face back at Hoover Dam, isn't it?"

"Would I be that petty and spiteful?" Seymour asked angelically. Of course he would, but that wasn't the point.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

"Naaaah," Seymour drawled, drawing out the moment. "Much more fun to see if Mirage is free and..."

"I'm NOT LISTENING!" Lennox spun around and marched off.

"Not doing much for the Rangers' tough guy image with your hands over your ears, buddy," Seymour called after him.

* * *

><p>The vehicle interiors were more crowded this time, but even so everyone managed a seat in one of the Autobots before Optimus opened the lab's outer door and the oxygen-enriched air dispersed into the unbreathable Cybertronian atmosphere. Captain Alexander Graham watched through Jolt's front window as Optimus hefted Jetstorm's heavy, patched form and stumbled slightly beneath the jet's weight. Red Alert darted forward and, with a supplicative glance at his leader, helped carry the old Decepticon through the huge opening. The Cybertronians followed, Ratchet last, driving in a half-circle around Jetstorm's prone form. Then Prime went back in and transformed, backing up to the trailer. It automatically hooked into him, folding together seamlessly.<p>

As the Prime drove out of Wheeljack's lab, the lights died behind him. The heavy door slid itself closed, locking with an audible _thunk_. Optimus drove into position, completing the circle that ringed Jetstorm and Red Alert. And as Alex watched, the increasingly familiar pressure built and blue-white lightning arced around them all. He blinked-

-and as soon as that, they were back at the space bridge. Dark, but not broken like the rest of the planet.

Cybertronian commands issued from Optimus. Red Alert jerked up, said something that even Alex could tell was a protest. Optimus' reply was uncompromising. Red Alert was tense for a moment longer, then sagged in acquiescence.

Bumblebee's driver door opened, then shut behind Sam as he got out.

* * *

><p>Sam looked up at Red Alert for a moment, then walked forward. The air was cool, but Bumblebee had had the heaters on and Ratchet's blanket had helped dispel most of his shudders. He still felt drained, though, and knew he was going to collapse as soon as he found a flat enough surface. The mech looked hesitantly down at him, then knelt, offering both hands. Sam stepped easily on that platform and was raised into the air as Red Alert stood. A cable snaked out of Red's shoulder and hovered in the air by him.<p>

Sam placed his hand on the offered means of communication and closed his eyes, falling into code.

Red was... well, Red Alert thought fast. Faster than Sam had experienced with Bumblebee or Optimus. A rushing torrent of code roared through him, and Sam let himself fall into it, flowing with it, offering up his own thoughts and the instruction of the Allspark knowledge within him.

Red Alert's optics brightened as he assimilated the data. He strode abruptly toward the space bridge. Sam felt the beginnings of stuffiness in his lungs, but ignored the pull to breathe as Red jacked another cable into the machine. It sprang to life under his cybernetic touch, blue-white light spilling through all the seamlines of the space bridge control board. Red entered what Sam gave him, and Sam opened his eyes again to see the familiar galaxy of golden glyphs spiraling into the dark sky.

And there, that one was Earth. He pointed at it. Red disengaged from the bank. He looked around, first at the circle of Autobots within the bridge, gaze lingering on Optimus, then again, looking further out, at the ruins of his world.

Sam absolutely could not tell what Red Alert was feeling as the Autobot reached up, hooked a claw into the glyph that meant Earth, and sent them all to another species' home world.

* * *

><p>Thin predawn light spilled across the English countryside, pale gray shading toward pink as the planet spun on. All was quiet save the the occasional vehicle that drove down the A-344. Elsewise, sheep dozed or munched a mouthful of grass.<p>

The bucolic nirvana was interrupted as a blast of compressive atmosphere suddenly cracked outward, scattering the ovines, heralding refugees arriving from an alien planet via space bridge.

Inside the bridge's ring, humans disembarked from the alien vehicles, taking appreciative first breaths of the air of their home planet. Moving back, they milled around, watching as tires folded back down, even on Optimus' trailer, which had never been on Earth before, and the vehicles stood, transforming into robots.

"So, the plan?" Major William Lennox asked Optimus, who had not transformed.

"Emergency medical transport of the injured back to Diego Garcia," Ratchet answered before the Prime could speak.

"Agreed," Optimus said. "Sam," he addressed the human Prime, "unfortunately, we need you to stay here and replace the monument."

"_Then_ you get to the infirmary," Ratchet said, casting a gimlet optic on Sam.

Sam, obviously well trained or maybe just in enough pain, didn't argue with the medic, only nodded in response.

"Well, then, everyone else out of teleport range," Will called out. "We're running out of time here. Move it!"

Mechs and humans hustled up and out of the pit that contained the space bridge. Sam, strangely, hesitated, then walked up to Optimus, placing a hand on the other Prime's metal grill. He stood there for a minute-communicating?-then stepped back, nodding. He walked to the edge of the pit, where Bumblebee boosted him up and over onto the ledge. Then the yellow mech backed up, took a slight running start, and sprang up and over NEST's heads, landing in a tidy somersault on the grass beyond. The confines of the bridge were clear of extraneous personnel.

Light flashed again and the mechs within-Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, Arcee, Jolt, and Jetstorm-were gone.

Will walked over to the kid, who was looking narrow-eyed down at the pit. "So what's that about?" he asked.

Sam turned to look at him, mimed scribbling something on a pad of paper, and raised an eyebrow. Will happened to have a pen and paper in one of his pockets and fished it out, handing it over.

Sam wrote. Turned the pad around, handed it back to Will.

He read it.

He read it again.

"You're serious?" he asked, looking at the kid.

Sam smirked.

* * *

><p>The space bridge, fortunately, fit neatly inside one of the hangars on Diego Garcia. Sam's idea had been well-conceived, and they would have far easier access to the ancient technology if they needed it in the future. Optimus actually felt a little giddy about that as he reached into the open console and removed the critical circuit he and Sam had rebuilt. He hesitated, then, knowing he was unobserved, slipped it into his subspace where it would be safe and unreachable until they needed to use the bridge again.<p>

* * *

><p>The tons of earth slowly gathered themselves up and rose, hovering half a foot above the grass as Sam marshaled his wavering attention, forcing the dirt together, getting every last speck back into the mass. He moved it across the land silently, having to push it all up over the field fence.<p>

He wobbled, shook his head. _Rotate,_ he thought, trying to match the original placement angles. Dizzy.

Oh he was so not going to protest Ratchet's infirmary diagnosis.

Optimus knelt behind him, put a gentle hand on Sam's back. Offering support.

Right, he was a Prime. He could do this. Optimus could do the mass teleports, he could do the mass telekinesis.

Sam took a slow, deep breath that scraped his throat like a dull knife across raw flesh, and slowly, carefully, fit the dirt back into the deep pit. Like dropping a peg into a hole, he thought.

And just as he was finished, just as he let go, red sunlight spilled across the land.

A heartbeat later, the man and the mech were gone, home halfway across the world.

* * *

><p>Sam got twenty-four hours bed rest before he was released from Ratchet and Dr. Michelson's care complete with a bottle of painkillers that he largely ignored. Mikaela, fortunately, had taken a twenty-minute break from helping Ratchet and made a couple of international calls, telling not only her family but Sam's that they were working overnight at their internship and would be back tomorrow.<p>

(Sam thought about his parents, and their reaction to him not making curfew by _a whole day_, and concluded he had the most wonderful girlfriend on the whole planet. Bumblebee, once Sam conveyed this, did not disagree. He'd been on the wrong end of Judy's bat-wielding threats more than once.)

But thus it was that Sam missed seeing a once-in-a-Cybertronian-lifetime event, though he heard about it later from three sources. First he got a rough, abbreviated version from Ratchet, who was a bit distracted over where to start with so many protoforms in stasis. Later, after he was released, he got a more sympathetic and detailed telling from (of all people) Simmons. And finally, a day later and on a different continent, he got the full tale and back story from Optimus, who firmly believed that to understand Hound and Mirage's reaction, Sam needed to know what the mech in question had once been to both of them.

Hound and Mirage had apparently returned to the base just as the protoforms were being carried into the infirmary hangar. The pair of them were too small, as with the humans, to be of much help in the endeavor without the use of slow and cumbersome human equipment that the humans and Cybertronians alike usually disdained.

This didn't stop them from wandering down the edges of Prime's trailer, looking at the stasis-locked forms of their fellow Autobots.

Mirage had frozen, still as a living human could never be.

"Mirage?" Hound asked, then followed her gaze.

He forgot his human simulation breathing algorithms.

"It's..." Mirage whispered.

Hound didn't even bother to finish her thought. The both of them broke for the trailer in the same instant, jumping up, clambering over the silvery railing to reach one particular protoform nestled among the others. They each stared at it for a moment, then reached out, their human seemings dropping away as they made contact with the metal skin.

"Trailbreaker," Hound said.

Mirage broke down, wrapping her arms around as much of the protoform as she could reach.

("The three of them," Optimus explained, "had a relationship much like your, Mikaela, and Bumblebee's. They were separated by the search for the Allspark. Trailbreaker was needed to stay on Cybertron and defend our remaining Autobots... and the two of them were eminently suited for infiltration, scouting, and reconnaissance in our search."

/_Wow,_/ Sam keyed into his cellphone. There really wasn't much else he could say. /_I'm glad they're back together._/

"As am I," said Optimus.)

* * *

><p>Will really didn't want to have this conversation with the kid.<p>

And Simmons' spare remark about "consider it practice for your own kid" hadn't helped any.

But someone had to man up and point out all the possible things that could go wrong with a human-Autobot threesome, so he took a deep breath and strode forward to do it.

Only to be blocked by a Topkick. It opened its door to him in clear expectation.

Momentarily derailed (and perhaps a little bit relieved), he raised an eyebrow but clambered up inside regardless. The door shut behind him. "What's up?" he asked his friend.

"Simmons," Ironhide said, "told Mirage that you were going to have a talk with Sam."

"Yeah." Will let the statement dangle.

"Don't."

He blinked. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Thought you'd see it the way I do, big guy." It wasn't a good idea, either from the human side of the equation or the Cybertronian one.

"I've seen too many friends die to deny them any chance at happiness, no matter how fleeting."

"They won't live nearly as long as Bumblebee. You want him to live with that sparkbreak?"

"His spark'll be broken either way. At least this way he gets some happy memories out of it."

"Closet romantic, 'Hide?"

The truck's engine rumbled.

"And the kids?" Will asked.

"They love him. He loves them. We accept it because Bumblebee is one of us. And Sam is one of us. And Mikaela... well, she might as well be one of us, the way Ratchet's adopted her." Ironhide was silent for a moment. "Let them have their happiness, Major. There's little enough of it to be found in a war."

Will thought about it. "Has anyone talked to them about it at all?" he finally asked.

"Bumblebee knows our concerns," the weapons specialist replied. "And when Sam told Optimus, he got the same talk. Ratchet spoke with Mikaela. They all know. They're neither foolish nor stupid, and will go forward with it regardless."

Will was silent a moment further, considering, then let it go. "I'll drop it," he told Ironhide. "But if they get married, I want an invite to the wedding."

The Topkick snorted. "Can't imagine what you'd have to do to get kicked _off_ the guest list."

* * *

><p>They dropped Mikaela at home first, then Sam and Optimus and Bumblebee drove in silence to the Witwicky's. Hound and Mirage had refused to be parted from their rediscovered partner, and so Bumblebee for now had been moved up to a higher level of surveillance for his human.<p>

Judy was waiting for them in the driveway, her arms crossed. Sam got out of the car. "And just _where_ have you been, young man?" she asked, eyes blazing.

Sam glanced at his car. Its speakers crackled to life. "I, I've been to another planet, Ma," Bumblebee said.

Judy's jaw dropped open. "What?" she half-demanded, half-whispered.

"It's a long story," Optimus explained. "Sam helped us perform a rescue of some of our comrades from Cybertron, and in doing so injured his vocal cords. Ratchet kept him under surveillance for a day before releasing him."

"Fear his wrath!" Bumblebee added in.

Judy's expression changed entirely. "You got hurt?" she demanded of her son. "Oh, Sammy! Let me look at you. Chicken soup!" she said. "Or tomato, that'd be better for your throat..."

Sam rolled his eyes at his mother's flustered pats as she checked him for further undiscovered injuries. He pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket and shook it, catching her attention. She took it from him and proceeded to read the label. "Take as needed, with food..."

It was, Optimus reflected, watching his human brother get herded toward his family's domicile, an innocuous ending to a mission that could have gone much more badly for all concerned.

* * *

><p>NEST carefully monitored information about Stonehenge for a while, and were generally relieved that the site's disruption seemed to have passed without comment. Certainly if any of the neo-pagans sensed anything different during their solstice rituals a few days later, it went unreported.<p>

In fact, the only blip that popped up on their radar was an archaeogeological survey several months afterward that revealed a heretofore undiscovered ring of disturbed earth in a perfect circle of 160 meters diameter, centered on the standing stones. A flurry of academic exchanges regarding the discovery came through NEST's search protocols for nearly two years, then tapered sharply off.

Sam, his voice recovered by the time of the survey, just smirked and unhelpfully suggested fairy rings as a cover story.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> There. Summer Job, _done_. The wonderful Simmons/Lennox conversation in this chapter was written by the brilliant Epona Harper, who graciously let me use it in the story. The full list of Autobots rescued from Cybertron is this: Red Alert, Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, First Aid, Groove, Blades, Streetwise, Hot Spot, Transmutate, Perceptor, Inferno, Firestar, Teletraan, Elita One, Smokescreen, Beachcomber, Seaspray, Gears, and Huffer. I debated long and hard over this list; some (Red, Jack, TB, and Percy) were always givens. Others were taken from reader requests. And some (Transmutate, Teletraan) were just to see what I might be able to do with the character. That said, many of these characters are in bad shape, and the Autobots have no way of synthesizing energon. Ratchet's going to have to prioritize; some of them may likely remain in stasis for a long time and have no effect on future stories. But at least they're rescued! Also, given that Elita One is on my list, I'm obviously not taking The Reign of Starscream as canon for this 'verse. And, finally, yes, I have been waiting a very long time to use that line from The Last Starfighter... ^_^ It may even have been what inspired this entire story.


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